


Mr. Jenson

by AnmNicki



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, best friends father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnmNicki/pseuds/AnmNicki
Summary: I've fallen in love with a man who makes me feel things I didn't know actually existed. Falling for him was inevitable, but how can we possibly be together... when he's my best friends father?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I've wanted to write for a while, so I've decided to post it here to hear what others think of these characters and their story!

PART 1

I remember the way it felt to stand in the daunting presence of Mr. Jenson.

Not since the day I met the distant man had he ever become approachable. Always a figure to be watched, but never bothered, or else his icy stare might pierce ones fragile skin if too close. Perhaps it was his size, or the intimidating expression that seemed to be a constant on his endearing face, that made most tentative. Or maybe it simply was the air of power and strength that radiated off his overwhelming frame.

But none of that ever stopped me. My young, juvenile mind fed off of the warnings his sharp gaze gave out. My body, seemingly week compared to his own, always pulled by an invisible, and undeniable, force towards his.

Our comparisons were laughable at the least. His form stands tall, and grounded. Mine low to the ground and unsteady. My pale, delicate skin at all times seemed to glow when laid next to his tanned body. The bulk of his arms, his chest, his legs, all served to shrink my already minuscule features. He is the lion, and I am the cub.

And yet, standing next to him, in front of him, behind him, only served my greedy curiosity. I would wonder what it’d be like to touch the man himself, to run my shaky fingers up and down the hair of his arms. To press soft skin against rough. I imagined countless times the feel of the large expanse of his callused hands, cupping my heated cheeks, trailing their way down the length of my neck, then lower, to map out my sides, continuing to the light curves of my hips. 

Would his fingertips spark a timid fire as they scorched their way across my smooth skin? Would my body respond the way it seems to have always promised to when our bodies meet? 

These questions, these burning thoughts, they fueled my desires until I felt my only option left in my desperation for this brooding man’s affection, was to give myself over to be consumed. Wholly and completely. 

I threw myself into the fire that was Duke Jenson. I let him burn me, singe my soul with passion and darkness in the most beautifully, unbeautiful way. We once created a raging flame, the two of us together. The kind of flame that held splendor and beauty as it danced in the darkness. But not all fires can remain contained. They hold the sure risk of losing control and spreading destruction.

Our flames were warm, and all consuming… until they consumed too much. It was only a matter of time before the fire went out, leaving me as nothing more than a piece of ember, laid out in the aftermath, nothing but ashes left around me.

At least that’s what it feels like. Like I move around in a smoky haze with only the memories of the man who made me fall in love with him.

Memories of how he encompassed my body, my soul, my heart, with his own. His warmth taking over my senses when he cradled me into his frame, hiding me from anything surrounding the two of us. His lips, so soft on my own while his sharp jaw scratched at my delicate cheeks.

The way he’d breathe against my shivering skin, “My sweet, little rose.”

The way I’d melt into those words bashfully.

I remember it all. The sweetest memories plagued by sadness, haunting me, not with fear, but with regret. 

Always there. Always lurking.

 

Amity Rose – 10 years old

“Hey, why are you crying?” 

It must be a hundred degrees out today. I’m sitting on the heated sidewalk at the end of my house’s driveway. Well not my house. My house is back, sitting lonely, thousands of miles away in Maryland. The house that sits behind me is just a place my parents bought and selfishly decided we have to live in. At least that’s what my ten year old self believes.

I want my real house back. The one where I marked the walls with my beautiful artistry and Crayola sets. True works of art, my dad would say, despite my mom’s angry ranting in the background. I want the treehouse we had built two years earlier where I hid away comfortably from all the bullies and problems all shy ten year old girls faced.

But no. Dad decided without asking me, his little princess, to move us to Colorado. I had never heard of it, nor did I care to learn anything about it. All I knew was I was no longer home. So yes, I was crying. My scrawny legs laid straight, and bare, aside from my shorts, out in front of me. The concrete burning my pale skin.

I look up at the orange haired girl who currently was shielding the unforgiving sun from my eyes. The first things I notice, besides the brightness of her hair, is the equally eye-catching outfit she wears. Neon blue leggings, making the freckles that mark her skin seemingly from head to toe, pop. A purple top with just as much finesse as the bottoms. And an orange, glittered, sort of sequined, hand sized purse draped diagonally across her small, but not as thin as my own, body.

It was a head ache inducing array of mismatched colors and pieces of fabric. Yet she wore it with confidence I had no familiarity with.

The second thing I noticed after taking in her wardrobe choice, was that she resembled me. Not in appearance, for the fire headed girl with un-countable amounts of freckles contrasted my blonde hair and unblemished skin greatly. But she was also crying, just like me.

“Umm,” I’m shy, and I’m crying. Having some girl, who appears to be my age, approach me so suddenly makes me nervous. “My dad made us move away from our house, and move here.” I sniffle, wiping my snotty nose with the bottom of my tank top.

“Oh, do you not like your new house?” The orange haired girl asked, still standing imposingly above me, her hands held straight to her sides.

“I don’t know.” I start to fidget with a stray rock my hands stumble upon to my left side. Always needing to occupy my hands with a task when nervous. “I haven’t gone inside yet.”

She think for a moment, watching as I play unenthusiastically with the small piece of earth. “Why not?”

She hiccups before I respond, reminding me she’s sad just as I am. Honestly, the hopeless look in her eyes tells me she just might be even more upset than me.

“I just don’t want to go in yet.” My parents say I’ll have a bigger room in this house. I’ll have my own bathroom I won’t have to share with my brother. I’ll even have a balcony. But I don’t care about what they call, an upgrade. I’ve never liked new things. I’ve always felt safer, and more comfortable in what has been lived in, molded by myself. Change has only served to scare my timid mind.

As I continue awkwardly rolling the rock between my boney fingers, I hear another hiccup. Looking at the shadowy figure of my new acquaintance, I ask, “Why are you crying?”

She takes my interest as an invitation, sitting smoothly on the ground beneath her, going cross legged as she clutches the small purse to her stomach. “My dad told me he’s leaving again.”

That doesn’t sound good. I can’t imagine my dad leaving me. Why would hers?

“Where is he going?” I question with interest, pausing from my task with the rock.

She wipes a rogue tear that trails down her face. “He says that he’s in the military. And he has to go away so he can help people. That’s his job.”

“Where does he go?”

“He says out of the country. And I asked my mom how far out of the country is, and she said really far. Like over the ocean far.” She speaks fast, her voice growing in pitch the more upset she becomes.

“How long will he be gone for?” I’ve forgotten the stone completely as I make eye contact for the first time with the girl.

“Six months.”

“Whoa. That’s so long.”

She sucks in a deep breath, puffing out her chest as she does. Almost as though she wishes to seem brave. Unfortunately her still leaking eyes give her away. “Yeah, he’s been gone for longer before too. Sometimes shorter. Sometimes he’s come home for a while, and sometimes he’s only home for a little bit.”

“My mom’s a nurse. She helps people all the time. But she never leaves for more than during the day.” I explain, realizing my own tears have dried due to the distraction of another’s suffering.

“Dad said he helps people who are far away because they don’t have people who help them there.” She continues, fingers tinkering with the sequins on her accessory.

“Hmm,” I’m not really sure what else to say. I don’t usually talk to strangers. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“I’m sorry you had to leave your house.”

Silence washes over us then. But it isn’t bad. In fact I feel comfortable, just sitting, in the blinding heat, with someone else whose dealing with equal… maybe not so equal… sadness. It wakes me up, realizing I’m not the only one who drew the short stick today.

“What’s your name?” The squeakiness of her voice turns my gaze to meet her red, puffy eyes.

“Amity… or Amity Rose.”

“Oooh, that’s pretty. My name’s just Mackenzie. My dad calls me Mac though. But my mom says that’s not pretty. Not like your name.” For the first time I see her smile. Her teeth lay crookedly in her mouth, yet the way her lips curl up is almost infectious.

I smile back without thought. “I think I like Mac better.”

“Alright then! You shall call me Mac!” Mac seems to have taken a 360. Her blues forgotten as she practically bounces up and down in her seated position. Her excitement is overwhelming, but still she must be able to share that enthusiasm, because I feel my shoulders lighten for the first time in days watching her.

“You’re going to Maplehood Elementary, right?” She chirps.

I nod, folding my knees up and resting my elbows on them. I examine her as she continues.

“Do you know who your teacher is going to be?”

“Ms. Tomas I think.”

At my response, Mac freezes. Her mouth held so wide open she’s sure to catch bugs. “Ohmagod! We’re in the same class!”

I then listen to a word vomit of information. Apparently Ms. Tomas smells like toe jam… eww… and the class hamster actually died when it was Milly’s turn to bring her home for the weekend, so she bought a new one and Ms. Tomas still doesn’t know. Oh and Danny evidently has a crush on Mac, but Mac thinks Danny looks like the Grinch… rude… so she told Sarah that Danny has a crush on her, so Sarah now tries to kiss Danny on the playground every day, much to his dismay.

It’s a lot of names, and a lot of words that are spoken too fast for me to even try to retain the information. So I just sit, my butt becoming numb from the heat and hard ground, admiring the bubbly girl who might just be my first friend. Like ever.

She doesn’t let me get a word in, which is fine. I prefer to listen, rather than give my input anyways. There’s less risk in just listening to someone else.

She’s so caught up in her wild tales, she’s almost out of breath, her chest heaving even more. She nearly doesn’t hear the calling of her name, or the approaching footsteps that follow.

“Mac, you can’t just run away like that.” a low voice breaks Mac’s rant.

We turn ours eyes in sync, looking to my right at what appears to be a giant coming our way.

Okay, so obviously not an actual giant, but about the same size.

It’s a man. A large man with heavy footsteps and long strides. I can feel the redness appear on my cheeks, the side effect of being so shy. My shyness doesn’t exclude anyone, it makes itself known with every stranger I encounter. But men, with their intimidating size and deep voices, they make me feel much more reserved.

I lower my head as two large, tennis shoe covered, feet step in close. I stare at the ground by my naked toes, trying not to look at the imposing figure looming over me.

“I didn’t run away.” Mac snarls, her chipperness forgotten. “I just came down the street.”

I hear a sigh from above, leaving the mans breathe as he exhales deeply.

“And you made a friend it seems.” His voice is like no others I’ve ever heard. Its ruff, and almost scary. Sounds like it comes vibrating out of his chest.

“Yes, dad, this is Amity Rose.” She perks up slightly at her introduction of her new friend. 

I on the other hand feel to self-conscience to turn towards who I now know is her dad.

He must recognize my weariness, because he brings himself down to one knee next to me. It doesn’t do much for the size difference. He’s so big. Bigger than my dad. A lot bigger. 

I still don’t look at him, at least until I catch a side glance of his hand reaching out to me.

I look there first, at the hand offered to me, presumably for a hand shake.

“Amity Rose… Rose… huh? It’s nice to meet you.” He lets the name Rose roll off his tongue like he’s testing it. I choose then to look up. Feeling brave enough to satisfy my curiosity and match the voice to the face. “I’m Duke.”

I’m met by dark eyes, so dark they might be black. Dark hair and sharp facial features. His words to me are friendly, but his expression doesn’t seem so.

He looks serious. Stern. Scary.

My blush spreads, and I think my body shakes as my hand meets his and we shake as well. My hand has practically disappeared in his own. I feel like with one calculated move he could break the bones of my weak fingers.

It’s making me feel uneasy, yet at the same time, I don’t mind the way his grasp is firm in mine. I don’t know why.

He doesn’t smile at me. Only keeps the same straight lipped look as he observes the small child currently flustered by his intimidating presence. 

“She just moved here.” Mac interrupts the strange trance I’ve found myself in, staring uncharacteristically at her giant dad for longer than I’m used to. “And dad, guess what!”

He’s let go of my hand, leaving it cold, even in the sun’s heat. “What?”

“She’s going to be in my class!” And just like that Mac has found her excitement once again. It’s pretty apparent to me that she might just be a handful living only a few houses away from.

“Oh really?” An arched eyebrow is sent my way by Mac’s dad. “You think you can handle this one every day?”

He shoots a thumb towards his daughter, who slaps it away giggling. “Whatever daaaad. We’re gonna be best friends, I already know it.”

Best friends? I wouldn’t know what that’s like.

“Well, I think you’re gonna have to check with her on that one first, kid.”

Mac rolls her eyes playfully. “She’ll learn soon enough what’s good for her.”

I chuckle at her confidence, all while being acutely aware of the man still crouched down within inches of myself.

“I’m referring to myself being the thing that’s good for her, by the way.” Mac chimes with a smug smile.

“Noted.” Responds Duke, who then turns his attention to me. “So where are you coming from, sweetheart?”

The light touch of his back hand tapping my knee sends me deeper into my shell. I nervously tuck my hair behind my ears, before continuing my hard to break habit of fiddling with my blunt and abused nails.

He’s making me more nervous than even other men do. And I’m not sure why. It’s probably his size, or the way his face makes it seem like he’s about to scold me.

“Maryland.” I whisper, paying close attention to the skin around my nails.

“Ah, long ways away.”

I can only muster up a nod.

“She’s shy. I can tell.” Mac speaks again. She doesn’t seem like one to go too long without exercising her vocal cords.

“Well that’s alright. Better than getting your ears talked off 24/7.”

I can see enough to notice that once again Mac’s demeanor has shifted suddenly. It’s the way her shoulders slump, and her eyes turn from wide and care free, to sunken and down cast in only a split second. 

“Well, you won’t have to listen to me talk so much when you leave next week. So don’t worry about it.” Her voice cracks, obviously trying not to cry again. But her heartbreak falls off her as steadily as her tears.

That deep exhale again. Only this time longer. “Let’s talk about this at home. I’m sure Amity needs to unpack anyways.”

Nope. I don’t.

“Alright.” Mac’s voice is stubborn, yet defeated at the same time as she reaches her hand into the extended one of her dad’s. Offered to her much like it was to me only moments ago.

They stand, and I give in to the urge to look up at the odd father, daughter duo. I can see in the shape of their eyes, and the furrow of their brows that Mac is definitely Duke’s daughter. But that’s the extent of their similarities. His dark brown, nearly black, hair is contrasting to her orange. His tan skin makes her freckled white look out of place as they are joined hand in hand. It’s a fascinating sight.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at school then.” Mac feigns chipperness, but I can tell she’s still down about her dad leaving.

I nod, taking one last glace at the ensemble she must have chosen for herself this morning, wondering if I’ll be able to spot her tomorrow on my first day, wearing an equally obnoxious choice of outfit.

They’ve turned, about to make their departure back to their own house. And I feel… lonely. I don’t know why. I like being alone. Always have. But them walking away has me filled with an unfamiliar feeling of wishing I was going with them.

Maybe she just might be my best friend after all.

My thoughts are interrupted when I catch sight of the towering man turning his body around, just long enough to call out. “Goodbye, little rose.”

I bite my cheek to keep from smiling at the nickname.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is still building up the story, getting us to where we need to be before the real drama begins. We learn a lot of information, but still leave open a lot of questions to be explored in the later chapters!
> 
> If you want to see more of this story, let me know! I've had this story in mind for so long and I'm curious what everyone's thoughts are and if people want to read more!

I’m not sure when my presumably one-sided feelings towards Mr. Jenson changed. 

Even as I sat slouched on the firm concrete, gazing enviously at the father and daughter walking hand in hand, I felt something. It could have been his assertive manner, or the way his eyes had roamed over my own, demanding my undivided attention. Or it was just his natural being that called to me even as a child. 

It wasn’t a crush. Not at first. I was too young and inexperienced to even have an idea as to what an actual crush would entail. There had yet to ever be a boy to peak my interest, not that I bothered searching. Honestly, finding a boy cute was a milestone I wouldn’t reach for several more years. 

So no, as I watched the mysterious dad walk with measured steps back to his own home, I wasn’t blushing because I had a crush. I was blushing because of the strange pull I felt creeping its way through my mind. Perhaps it was that nickname, dripping off his lips like silk, the one which he would call me for years to come.

Little Rose.

I innocently wanted to hear that name again. It was… endearing… to my little soul. Like I was special enough to have the attention of a man of his stature. To have him calculate a name that would belong solely to me, and be spoken only by him.

But, I was only a kid, with scraped knees and bones poking mockingly out of everywhere my body bent. And within one week, a week filled with the trials of a girl who feared speaking to strangers attending a new school, and an even larger feat of reluctantly unpacking my mess of boxes into my new room; Mr. Jenson was gone.

I remember watching from my self-designated spot on the sidewalk as he hugged my new friend goodbye. Her little body clinging onto him like a koala bear. Gangly legs wrapped tightly around his middle, and stick like arms clung for dear life onto his thick neck. I didn’t have to be any closer to know Mac was crying once again. It was apparent in the desperate plea she silently spoke through her actions.

I didn’t notice the woman who also observed the heartache of a daughter pleading for her dad not to leave, until she stepped forward, her hair falling loosely down to her waste in waves of gold, and detached the small girl. 

It took a valiant effort for who I assume to be Mac’s mom. Mac’s body squeezed around her dad’s frame with a surprising amount of strength, or perhaps just enough desperation.

She looked broken, refusing to look him in the eye as he crouched and whispered to her what I assume to be promising word. That it won’t be for long. That he’ll be home soon.

Her eyes remain laser focused on the uninteresting stones below her feet. Her stubbornness remaining as Mr. Jenson rises steadily to his feet, glancing down with his hands rested on his hips, at his little girl. 

Seeing she’s not going to budge, he steps back after meeting his lips to those of Mac’s mother, just for a second. His steps hesitant as he backs away, slowly taking in the sight of the family he’ll leave behind until summer. At least that’s when Mac told me he’d be coming back. 

“The whole rest of the school year. Ugh! This sucks.” She had grumbled at recess the day before.

I felt indifferent watching Mr. Jenson, dressed in camo pants and a matching green shirt tucked tightly into his waistband, step into the awaiting vehicle at the end of his driveway. I had only met him once, so my thoughts mainly just lingered on my heart broken new friend.

A few months past, slowly dragging day by day as I endured the toxicity that is elementary school. The stuck up girls in our class made fun of me for my dreaded shyness. Because, apparently, “never talking is weird, Am-it-tee.” Turns out if you don’t jabber you’re mouth off you’re strange. 

Fortunately I had Mac. She became a welcomed presence in my life since that first day on the street. Another fact I became quickly aware of, was that dressing in outlandish clothing that had no direction or style, and mismatched colors, was also a big no no. 

Mac needed a fellow outcast, which explains her eagerness to incorporate me into her life from day one. It didn’t take long until her house became my second home, housing our frequent sleepovers.

Her sorrowfulness towards her dad’s departure hovered over her every day. To most eyes it’d be unnoticeable, but I could always see behind the glittery, cheerful mask she portrayed.

Her mom was… okay. Well, maybe not okay. Sabrina Jenson. Sabrina like the witch. And let me tell you, there’s not a more fitting name than one coinciding with a witch for her mother. While Mac’s dad’s expression seemed to only be set on neutral, serious, hiding what thoughts might be stirring inside, her mom’s was straight forward and blatantly direct. Her opinions never went unnoticed, not with the scowl permanently scarred onto her freckled face.

She was scary. And so was Mr. Jenson. But in two totally opposite ways. 

Yet Mac’s house still was better than mine. With my mom walking around like she doesn’t know where she’s going half the time, or my dad stumbling from room to room, slurring his words as he drinks from his… ‘Medicine’. Then there’s my twin brother who quickly developed an infatuation with my small freckled friend. And not in a cute, little boy way. More in a, I’m going to terrorize that girl until she likes me, kind of creepy up way.

“Um, Anthony’s kind of freaking me out, Amity.” Those were Mac’s words after Anthony unleashed an unholy amount of cockroaches, which he feeds to his lizards, into my bed we shared the first, and last, night Mac slept at my house. “There’s definitely a cockroach in my ear… yup… it’s in there. Ah! Just cut my ear off and burn it!”

Joined at the hip, that’s what we were. Our personalities were so opposite from one another that we fit like two very different puzzle pieces. We don’t look like we match, but in this jigsaw we do. I toned her down, while her flamboyant tendencies breached my comfort zone. 

It wasn’t long before I became keenly aware of her dramatic shifts in mood though. She simply could go from being high on life, to down in the dumps. It was like a switch she could flip by unreasonable choice, and it only would take a second.

I remember the day she ran to me at the playground while I was hanging upside down on the monkey bars. The bright, blinding colors of her clothes caught my attention as her flipped around body bounded towards me. I remained hanging, my long hair flowing in wisps down, just grazing its tips to the pebbles below.

“AMITY! AMITY! AMITY!” she arrives out of breath. I’m surprised to see her energetic self, seeing that she had been picked up by her mom for lunch.

“My dad! He’s coming home!!” she all but screeched into my ears. Her body now bent in half so she can press her reddened face inches from my own.

I flip around gracefully, landing squarely on my feet. “He’s coming home?”

She nods so vigorously I’m afraid her heads going to fly off and shoot confetti as it tumbles through the air. “Yup! That’s why my mom checked me out. To tell me he’s coming home next week!

“Isn’t that way earlier than he was supposed to?”

“Yeah, mom said him and some of his buddies had a change of plans or something, so now they’re coming back sooner!” I’m then graced with the happiest of happy dances. Flips and twirls of delight performed with little to no grace.

She’s so thrilled I can feel it wash over onto myself. I don’t even mind the looks from some of the other curious kids as my oblivious friend sings with glee.

I realize as I watch the impromptu show that I’ve never been to Mac’s house while her dad was there. I’m immediately aware of the nerves that spark in my body at the thought of her dad being present as well.

Her excitement lasted the rest of the day. Ms. Tomas told her at least, like twenty times, to relax. But her joy was unstoppable and contagious. She was still dancing with endless energy the whole bus ride home. I left her bounding up to her front porch as we parted ways. A smile on my face.

Her enthusiasm made it all the sadder when later that evening, as I laid on my pink plush bed in my otherwise mostly empty room, a knock sounded at my door. It was a timid three taps, and on the other side was a just as lack luster Mac. 

This wasn’t the same girl I enjoyed all day, singing and dancing like nobody was watching. This was the girl that I saw the day she approached me on the sidewalk. Fresh tears drying on her rosy cheeks, lips swollen and nose looking cracked and dry.

“What’s wrong?” I stutter.

“My dad’s hurt.” She swipes her arm aggressively across her running nose. “Like really bad.”

“Hurt? Like how?” We make our way towards my bed, and after brushing my Bratz dolls off uncaringly, we sit, leaning our backs against the wall the side of my bed meets. Me, with my legs stretched forward, her curled up, resting her cheek against one knee.

“Mom didn’t tell me while we were at lunch. But I guess he’s coming home because something happened, and… she-she said it’s not good.” 

“What happened?” I ask, picturing the bulk of Mr. Jenson, wondering what could possibly hurt someone so big.

Sucking in a deep breathe like she’s trying to muster the courage to think about her dad, she goes on, “She wouldn’t tell me. She said that sometimes bad things happen. But, she said that he’s probably not going to look good when he first comes back. And that I need to be careful with him.”

“Oh.” Is all I say.

Mac’s eyes turn darker then, like she’s having a thought so deep that it disturbs her greatly. “Amity… I heard my mom talking on the phone before I came here… I think to my Grandma. Mom said that he almost died.”

Her final words come out as a hushed breathe. Her eyes widen, as though something jumped out and scared her, before her emotional cord snaps. 

The tears seemed endless as she flooded her face with the miserable leaking. We sat, we hugged, we talked some more. Sympathetically I sat and listened to her pour her aching heart out over the man she loves more than anything.

It took two hours before her mom even came looking for her.

 

The next week seemed to stir Mac up. Excitement and sorrow mixed around her emotions, leaving her in a state of limbo. 

I spent most days at her house, distracting her the best a young girl could. Not much really helped though.

The day finally came for her dad to return. I tried fighting my curiosity, but ultimately lost, and made my way out to my spot. There was still a chill in the air from the end of winter, so I bundled in an oversized sweater and curled my knees in it while I waited.

Just a few houses down, Mac mimicked my position on her own sidewalk. Her wave to me is enthusiastic, but I can imagine she’s jittery, both nerves and delight. I think her mom sits on the porch, tapping away at her permanent accessory of a phone.

The sound of an engine travels up the road, the closer it gets the higher Mac raises until she’s standing so tall she balances on her tip toes. 

I can tell the second she sees her dad. Her body jumps in place, and she’s fighting the urge to leap into his arms. But she knows better. Better than to tackle the man sporting crutches. That’s all I see, not close enough to really tell the extent of his injuries. 

He greets his family as best he can, awkward hugs and kisses shared, before making their way inside, Mac having grabbed his duffle bag, which probably weighs just as much as her. She lifts the too big bag inside, disappearing from my view. 

I went to visit that weekend. Or more like Mac forced me over, and I reluctantly agreed. 

When I walk into their overly designed home, decorated with the nicest of furnishings and décor, looking as though it was pulled directly out of a magazine, I’m greeted by an out of place sight.

Mr. Jenson sits on an all-white loveseat. The throw pillows surround him with floral patterns and pastel colors, making the tanned man, with his thick dark hair, and just as dense growing beard, stand out.

But that’s not really what catches my timid eyes. It’s his shirtless torso. Only a white bandage snaked over his left shoulder, then wrapped snuggly around the expanse of his chest. Even my young mind knows that a bandage that large, covering that much skin, must be covering a wound of equal size.

Once I stop picturing what might lay beneath the protective wrap, I lock onto his face. His eyes are closed, but his brow furrowed, leaving a stack of creases on his forehead. 

It seems like he’s thinking, but also like he’s in pain.

Just above his right brow was an uncovered cut. Red, and angry. But also appeared to be healing.

Even other parts of his body are sprinkled with bruises, and less attention grabbing cuts. The combination of it all make him seem beaten up. And I don’t understand how going to help people resulted in this outcome.

I feel bad staring, so I look towards Mac, who if she feels the uneasiness that I do when looking at her still very intimidating dad, then she doesn’t let it show.

“Daddy, Amity’s here.” Mac sings, skipping over to her dad and perching gently on the spot next to him, being aware of her spastic body and making sure not to tousle him. “We’re going to go play in the backyard for a little bit.”

The following moment I’m sure I’ll always remember. No matter how young, the image of Mr. Jenson opening his eyes, practically peeling the lids apart, what I saw behind them shook me.

His eyes are dark naturally, but they’ve managed to deepen in shade somehow. It’s as though nothing laid behind his troubled features, like nobody was home inside his brain. 

It wasn’t anger, or sadness that I saw. It was pain. Possibly emptiness.

I think he was having a dream. I can just tell by the way his eyes stare unknowingly at me. It only lasts a second, and what I saw was so brief I’m sure most would have missed it. He blinks back to reality quickly, and eases the creases of his face slightly.

“Ah, little Amity Rose.” He shifts his beaten hands into his lap. “Looks like you stuck around with this one after all.”

He’s joking, but there’s no humor present in his expression.

“Whatever, daaad,” she goes in for a shoulder smack, but hesitates half way and settles for a light tap. “I told you we were going to be best friends, and guess what?! We are.”

She smiles triumphantly, as I stand awkwardly at the entrance to their living room. Picking at my nails and swaying side to side.

It truly amazes me how Mac could have come from her two parents. She is so full of light and easeful energy, while her mom and dad always seem so grim.

“I see.” His attention’s on me. “How’s school?”

“Umm, it’s good I guess.”

Mac can’t help but burst in, “People thinks she’s weird, and people think I’m weird. So we’re weird together. They just don’t realize that we’re secretly ruling over the entire class… but one day they’ll see.”

We’re not ruling anything. Honestly we’re just trying to survive the vultures that are elementary schoolers.

“You? Weird? Now that I understand.” He says gruffly to his daughter, before facing my uncomfortable self, “But I can’t imagine you being weird.”

I blush, not sure why. “Well, I don’t really talk much.”

He nods his head briefly, “Sometimes it’s better to know when to keep quiet.”

He says this simply. Matter of fact. Thoughtfully. Also like it’s a lesson his daughter should be taught, seeing as she can’t keep quiet for more than thirty seconds at a time.

“I wouldn’t let it bother you, Little Rose. One day they’ll see that you’ve got something they don’t have.” He taps his thick pointer finger to his temple twice.

That’s the last thing he says before Mac and I exit. I don’t know what he means. But those words stay with me. As does the coarse ‘little rose’ that I hear once again.

 

Mr. Jenson never left again, much to Mac’s pleasure. He still wasn’t around much it seemed. To me he was just a shadow that appeared in the night, always working long hours during the day. Mac said him and his friend started a garage together. Wasn’t sure what garage meant, but later found out it was a place for broken cars to be fixed. He spent more time there than not. 

When I was twelve years old, I went with Mac to visit her dad at work. There were lines of cars in various stages of disarray. Men working while listening to unfamiliar rock music that pierced my ears due to how high the volume was. It smelled like car oil and cleaner. Burned your nose if you got to close to some of the stuff they used. But I loved it.

I loved the garage and the men working there. They all scared me, but they were funny. Specifically Benny. Benny was tall just like Mr. Jenson, but he couldn’t be more different. His hair was dirty blonde, and not so wavy like Mr. Jenson’s. Bubbly would be the best word to describe him. He paraded around the place like a kid in a candy store. Cracking jokes, which were too vulgar for our innocent ears, although we secretly didn’t care.

Really, he was an adult version of Mac.

“Uncle Benny!” Mac called for him every time we stepped into the smoky garage. He’d shout back “Mac Attack!” and scoop her up like she weighed nothing. Eventually I became a regular at the place along with Mac, and I was very quickly dubbed Sunshine by the happy man. Seeing as my last name is Shine, it’s not the first time I’ve heard the not so original nickname. But I enjoyed these callused men calling me it anyways.

We spent so many pointless hours watching Mr. Jenson and Benny work on cars. Mesmerized by the ease they had when fitting the puzzle pieces of car parts together. They’d let us help of course. Even though our troublesome presence sometimes made things harder more often than not. 

They’d always lift the heaviest things, the muscles in their arms bulging aggressively while wrestling with larger car parts. I always wondered how Benny could be so strong. Not due to lack of muscle or size, but because he was working with only one regularly functioning leg. 

His left leg was gone. Severed from his knee down. In its place was a prosthetic. Usually the fake appendage was hidden beneath pant legs, out of sight enough to fool someone into thinking he simply had a limp.

I asked Mac once what happened to him. She said in a puff of frustration, “He got hurt the same time as dad. But no one will tell me what happened.”

I thought Mr. Jenson’s bandaged body and abused skin was bad, but this guy lost his leg. And eventually it become apparent to me that they were hiding something form Mac. Like what happened to them.

You see, with me spending so much time with not only Mac, but also at the garage, I became aware when I was thirteen, that I had a crush. Just a crush. One of those simple little things that all sweet little girls got. They were cute and innocent. And while mine was all those things as well, I didn’t fit the standard requirement that most girls my age had. My crush wasn’t on a boy from class, or some barely post pubescent teenage popstar. Or some new up and coming movie actor from the Disney Channel or some other crap. 

No my crush was on my best friend’s dad. The man who chilled my skin when we were in the same room together. The man who scared me as much as he made me feel safe. Sometime I felt unsafe with my own dad, but never with Mac’s. Even though Mr. Jenson just about breathed out warning signs to stay away.

I passed it off as a reaction to all the time I spent with that family, and a mix of hormones ripping through my unprepared body. I also spent more time than I should watching him at the garage. Watching muscles, which fascinated me, work strenuously all day. 

But whatever. I was still too shy to talk to him for longer than a few minutes. Even more so now that I felt tingles in my body when he stood too close. I constantly was at crossroads with myself, trying to avoid being in the same room as the man who made me act foolish, but also trying to catch glimpses at him when he wasn’t looking.

I ignored it for the most part.

But there were certain things, little moments, that made me start to sink deeper in this so called crush.

Like when there was a supersized monster truck brought into be fixed, and Mac insisted we had to go and see it. It was truly massive, and made all the other cars present look like toys. Mac and I couldn’t climb our way into the truck on our own, due to our limp noodle arms and legs. So Mr. Jenson lifted us inside.

I was almost fourteen, and very aware of the almost dangerous grip placed on my waist. He lifted me like I was five years old again, like picking me up was a mindless task to him. It made me flush, and avoid eye contact with him like a childish idiot for the rest of the day.

Then there was the time when he drove forty five minutes to take me and Mac to my favorite ice cream shop I’d ever eaten at. One that was right next to my house in Maryland, but due to the distance in this state that’s now my home, I haven’t eaten at since. 

Mr. Jenson caught me crying outside on the sidewalk. Soft tears breaking through the barrier I tried unsuccessfully to build as I sat once again in the sweltering heat. He stopped his car much to my embarrassment, and coaxed the reason for my tears out of me.

“You know I’m not gonna judge you for crying, Little Rose.” He spoke with deep fluidity while crouched down to lessen the difference in height.

Even when he didn’t look it, his words always seemed gentle, no matter how coarsely they’re spoken.

I tried to evade, but eventually admitted defeat, and explained the reason for my shed tears.  
My fourteenth birthday, and my mom worked a double shift. And my dad, who didn’t work that specific day, sat on the couch unmoving, eyes focused on the TV. 

And he forgot. He forgot it was my birthday.

It took Anthony reminding him to get even a simple Happy Birthday from his mouth. 

“Sorry guys, I got so much on my mind, it just slipped through. Listen, I’m too fucking beat from all the hours I got to work, so we’ll do something this weekend, alright princess?” He said without sparing me a glance.

Mr. Jenson seemed irritated by my explanation. He didn’t hesitate before insisting on taking my brother and I out for ice-cream. We picked up Mac, who immediately told him about my obsession with my favorite parlor.

“Ah yeah! It’s the best ice cream ever!” Anthony chirped. Mac rolling her eyes at her… well… basically stalker at this point. 

“It’s really far away. We can just go to Baskin Robins or something.” I interject rapidly, trying not to be more of a burden than I already felt I was.

“Pull up the directions, Mac.” Was all he said. And he’s not someone I would ever argue with.

It ended up being one of my best birthdays. Even with my obnoxious brother along, we laughed so hard all night while indulging in the sweetest and creamiest ice cream there is. Mr. Jenson didn’t once pressure us to hurry. He sat contently, almost appearing amused, as we goofed around like the young teens we were. And after the late night was over, I climbed out of Mr. Jenson’s car, looking back to say, “Thank you for taking us tonight, Mr. Jenson.”

The miniscule, almost nonexistent twitch of his lips didn’t go unnoticed by myself when he shifted in his seat to face me. “No worries. Oh, and why don’t you quit calling me Mr. Jenson? Not that old, Little Rose. Just say Duke.”

I stalled in the drive after that for longer than a normal person should. My brother already off inside.

“Duke.” I allowed the name to slip gently out of my lips, like it was too precious to be spoken to roughly.

Truthfully, I didn’t actually see Mr. Jens-… Duke… an excessive amount. It’s just that when I did, the moments stuck with me annoyingly, yet sweetly. I mainly saw him when I visited the garage with Mac.

And things really changed shortly after my cherished birthday night, when Mac announced to me her parent’s untimely divorce. 

I hadn’t seen that side of Mac since we were ten years old. The sad, lost girl trying to configure her parent’s misfortunes, which only caused some of her own heartache.

“I guess I saw this coming, but it still sucks, you know?” she refused to cry over the news of her parents split. 

But her feelings beat her bravery in the end when she learned her dad would be moving thirty minutes away, and she’d only get to stay with him every other weekend, and the occasional week day evening.

This unfortunate turn of events opened my juvenile eyes even more, when I felt a pang of sorrow myself at the realization that Duke would no longer be around. No longer be there to buy us ice cream when our fragile feelings were hurt by middle school rats, or flakey parents, or a devious brother with an over active imagination. No longer would he drive me and Mac to the garage so frequently. 

My dramatic, hormonal, new teen mind wondered if I’d ever see him again. 

I was very melodramatic, and also very, unnervingly aware that my crush might be a little stronger than I tried desperately to get myself to believe.

Of course I was wrong. I did see Duke again. Very rarely, but the occasional soccer game and birthday party allowed me to see my treasured crush. But unfortunately, Mac stopped going to the garage so much, claiming to be too old to sit around watching her dad work all day.

I guess it makes sense that she doesn’t get the same, tingly satisfaction out of being there as I do.

Three years and Duke was so sparse in my life, that he almost became irrelevant. But not completely. He seemed to linger deep in the caverns on my mind. A soothing thought that poked through at random times. A blissful memory of a man I admired, which resurfaced whenever Mac mentioned him.

I almost feel guilty with how my thoughts would turn whenever Mac innocently mentioned her dad in even the most irrelevant of sentences.

My thoughts were never impure. In fact, it’s almost embarrassing how PG they always were. I wanted to be around him. My feelings were always inexplicable, but still always present. I enjoyed the way he spoke to me, the way he made me feel when I was speaking, like I got his undivided attention.

Getting a compliment from him, now that was like winning the lottery.

Just a simple crush. That’s all it is. Just keep telling myself that.

It worked, convincing myself that it was the most natural thing to have a crush on someone’s dad. Actually, it really is. I even looked it up. Probably more often than not girls experience crushes on authoritative role models. Like teachers or… friend’s parents.

I let this knowledge comfort me through the years, assure me that there’s normalcy in my fascination with Duke. And not seeing him almost ever helped immensely.

I was able to forget, at least for the most part. 

That is, until senior year.

 

“We’re moving back to Maryland, in with Mimi and Papa. We can’t stay here with him any longer.”

That’s what my mom said one day after I returned home from grueling summer school. A long day of advanced classes, trying to get as much of high school done as soon as possible, and then I get home to this unexpected bombshell.

“Pack up, we’re leaving as soon as we can.”

She went on. Scurrying around the house as though her head was cut off.

She wanted to leave my dad, she wanted us all to leave him.

The look on Mac’s face when I told her was what I expected. Leaving would be as hard on her as it would be on me. We’re each other’s only real friends. Separating us would break a tight bond, snapping it harshly, leaving us broken.

“Why are they getting divorced? You never said they were having problems.” She had a right to be curious.

I never said anything. That part of my life was always kept secret. My dad, how he was… I didn’t want anyone to know… not even my best friend. 

“I don’t know. Everyone has problems I guess.” I faked unsureness.

“Do you want to move?”

I don’t have to think about it. I dreaded moving away from Maryland before, but my home quickly became here. The thought of starting new again, on my senior year no less, leaves me feeling nauseous. 

The thought of leaving Mac. That makes me down right sick.

“No.”

“Well then the solution is simple.” She raises a dramatic finger into the air. “You’re coming to live with me.”

“Oh yeah.” I plop my body into the grass of Mac’s backyard, throwing my hands into the air. “Me, you, your mom, and Chip. That’s sounds great.”

She follows my lead, crashing with less grace than myself into the sharp blades of green below us. “Okay, first of all, let’s not bring up my step douche dweeb, mmm-kay? And second, I am not living with my mom this year.”

“What?” 

“I have a car and I’m seventeen. Told my mom just the other day that if I want to live with my dad, then I’m going to live with him.” She speaks like a child who won their first true argument against their parent. 

Living with Mac’s dad… that’s not sitting well with me. “I don’t think your dad would want me living with you guys. It’s a nice offer though.”

“Are you kidding? He couldn’t care less. I’m gonna call and ask him right now!” She pulls her phone out of the pockets of her glittery, cheetah print jeans.

“Wait, no!” I attempt to snatch the phone out of her nimble fingers, ultimately failing as she evades and rolls over. “I don’t even think I could square that with my mom. You shouldn’t even bother.”

“Oh no. I’m gonna bother. And so are you. Do you really want to move again, start a new school again? You won’t have me, and I won’t have you. That can’t happen. I will literally die. Like actually die.” Her eyes are wide, and brows climbing into her hairline. “Plus, after this year we’ll be going our separate ways. We won’t be in the same state anymore most likely, so this is our last fucking year!”

All good points. And I agree with every single one. But living with Duke, I don’t think I can handle that. The shy feelings creep back up just thinking about being in the same confined space with my secret obsession.

I don’t think it’s a good idea.

 

Good idea or not, within a few weeks, and an aggressive amount of fighting with my mom later, here I stand, in the driveway of none other than Duke Jenson.

Lord help me, I am seventeen years old and yet I still feel like a tween panting over some boyband crush on a poster above my bed.

He’s lifting my boxes into the house. A t-shirt fit snuggly to his budging arms. A slight glimmer of sweat shining his forehead due to the August heat. His jaw dusted with stubble in that too perfect kind of way.

I feel like an intruder stepping into his house. I don’t feel like I belong here, and despite Mac’s insistence on him being okay with my staying here for the school year, I can’t help but believe there’s no way that’s true.

His daughter is one thing, but why would he want her friend invading his space? This house is a total bachelor’s slum.

I’m not saying it’s not nice. In fact the house is impressive. Like one I’d always imagined having. The kitchen is modern with its white sleek cabinets and marbled tops. The appliances brand new and still shining as though they’ve hardly been touched. An unnecessarily large fire place, three bedrooms and a pool which already calls my name.

It’s not all that big of a house, but it’s new and the eye catching mountain view from the backyard is breathtaking. I can see why he bought in this location.

Too bad he has no style. It’s barely furnished inside. The vibe is similar to his own. Every piece that lays uncaringly in this house give away no clues as to what kind of person Duke is. Just like his demeanor. It’s all just there, furniture bought out of necessity, only the bare minimum required to live comfortably. 

There’s a major lack of color, which displeased his sparkling daughter. “Dad, the fengshui in this house in nonexistent. And I can actually feel my body being drained of color and happiness. Don’t you worry though, I’ll being fixing this.”

I don’t doubt that Mac’s inner stylist will explode out of her within one week of being here. She’ll have this place looking like a hipsters get away by Christmas.

“That’s the last box.” Duke’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I’ve made my way into the pristine kitchen, where I lean lazily against the chilling marble.

He’s come back down the stairs, approaching me while running his fingers smoothly through his thick waves.

“Thanks for carrying them, they were pretty heavy for me.” I fold my arms across my chest, shivering as he passes me to reach for the fridge, even though it’s hot out and I shouldn’t have goose bumps.

“No problem.” He speaks casually, taking a sip of a freshly opened beer. 

I try to ignore the way his neck flexes as the liquid washes down his throat. Try, but fail.

“And thanks for letting me stay here. Don’t be afraid to ask me to do anything around the house. I plan to earn my keep.” I chuckle bashfully. Far too aware of how he eyes me. Like he’s analyzing me, studying the young girl whose about to take over his sanctuary, wondering if it will for the good or the bad. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He’s being short with me, and I’m not sure why. He doesn’t seem upset or uncomfortable, just unsure I guess. 

“Okay, this is gonna be awesome!” Bounding down the stairs two at a time is Mac. So much energy bursting its way into the otherwise unenergetic atmosphere of the kitchen. “Thank you Dad, thank you Amity, and thank you the universe, this is gonna be the best year. I think this is how it was meant to be. Us living together our last year before real life and adulting rips us some new ones.”

I laugh. Duke raises his brows, taking another sip.

“Rose here might move out once she realizes the energy it takes to live in the same building as you.” He’s joking, but I believe him about the energy I’ll have to muster up to keep up with Mac every single day.

Her hands find her hips as she gives her dad the best, ‘oh really?’ look in which she has mastered. “Please, if she high tails it out of here it’s gonna be because of your grizzly ass, old man.”

Duke grunts in response, leaning himself against the counter opposite me, our toes only a foot apart.

He’s not that old, I think. He had Mac when he was like, seventeen or eighteen. I bet you’d have to search his far from balding hair closely just to find any trace of greys. The only sign of his maturity being the few lines that mark the corners of his hypnotic eyes.

“I’m more worried about being a burden. Maybe you guys will end up trying to find a reason to get rid of me instead.” It’s true. I hate being the hang along, especially when I know how much Mac missed living with her dad. Now she gets him back and I’m shacking up too. It’s a weird trio.

“Whatever. You’re like seriously the easiest person to be around.” Mac’s peppy voice floats around the room the same as she does. Always light on her toes and unable to stand still for an extended period of time. 

“Do you have a job?” Duke ignores his flailing daughter and it’s then I realize his calculated stare has been on me this whole time.

He’s watching every movement, every breathe it feels. I’m suddenly self-conscious and begin to pick at my nails, willing myself to not become so flustered. But it’s like I’m on display. And for the last person I want to be critiquing me. Or maybe I do want him to. Ugh, I’m not sure.

“Umm, yes. I only have two periods a day, and then I go and work at the day care at the Rec Center.”

He gives me a nod. His usual aloof response which I’m now used to.

“She’ll be here a lot more than me.” Mac stands between us now, wide eyed and looking like a child on a sugar high. Which basically is her usual persona. “But she’s really good at cooking so I bet she’ll make you dinner if you ask real nice.”

Duke appears to not have any interest in the thought. In fact, it looks like he wants to leave. With the way he ticks his middle finger impatiently on the side of his cold beverage. Although he still watches me, stealthily. Surely he can see my blush forming, or the way I avert my gaze towards nothing in the background.

“I’d be happy to pay you rent, if that’s why you’re asking. In fact I’d like to, just tell me a number.”

“No.” the father and daughter collectively state at the same time. A vocal contrast of ruff and deep, and sweet and high.

“You’re more than welcome here. Can’t see you being much of any trouble. At least not in comparison to this one.” Duke reassures me.

“I don’t know why I missed you.” Mac huffs, then looks to me. “You’ll also have to deal with Benny being over, like all the time.”

“He’s a child,” Duke actually chuckles, “He needs to be monitored.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Benny may be one of the funniest people I’ve met. But he’s a weird one. One of those refreshing kinds of weird. Everyone needs an Uncle Benny in their lives I’ve decided.

“Aint that the truth.” Mac nods thoughtfully, “Oh and I’m sure we’ll have to put up with dad and his giiiirlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” The words leave my mouth before I realize I spoke. They just slipped through my teeth mockingly, sounding surprised and concerned. I didn’t mean to sound desperate, I didn’t even mean to speak, no matter my shock.

“Tisha.” Mac speaks but I can’t help but will my eyes to meet those of Dukes. I have to force it, as though I know better than to look.

He’s still locked onto my small form. My form that has only filled out slightly in the last few years. He now appears to be gaging my reaction. Why? I might even say I think he wants me to say something, before he decides what his response will be.

But I don’t have a response, I’m too busy trying to find my way out of the maze that is Duke’s stare. I think he might be trying to find a way out of mine as well.

He wins out eventually, pulling away and focusing on the drip of his beer bottle. “She won’t be here that much.” He says coolly.

“I’ve met her once, and to be honest dad, she’s kind of… a bimbo.” Mac states blatantly, obviously not very fond of her father’s recent companion. Her dad’s seeing someone she doesn’t approve of, and yet she never spoke a word of this to me. Huh.

“Mackenzie.” Duke warns. That voice, so commanding, is enough to make me want to curl away like a turtle, but it has no effect on Mac.

I tell myself not to care about him having a girlfriend. Once again, try but fail.

“Oh fine, I’ll keep my opinions to myself. Amity will see soon enough.” She grabs my hand, a death grip not expected from the petite orange haired girl. “We’ll be upstairs gossiping about your lady friend. Better get used to having two teenage daughters for the next year!”

We’re heading up the stairs before her sentence is finished. 

A grunt echoes below, causing me to turn my view back down to the kitchen, almost to the top of the steps myself.

He probably doesn’t think I noticed. But I did. 

The unmistakable quick turn away. Deterring one’s eyes in a speedy motion. Something you do when you’re not supposed to be looking. It’s a move you make when you know you don’t want to be caught.

And yet, here I just caught Duke, Mr. Jenson, pull that typical male move. Busying himself rapidly with some unimportant task in the kitchen.

He couldn’t have been looking at me, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is when the relationship between the two MC's starts to develop. We'll start seeing how they interact when living together! And what happens when Mac's not around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is definitely a long chapter, and I'm not sure if all chapters will be this long or not. It will probably vary as the story progresses. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoy!

She’s too fucking sweet. 

Not like Mac. My ostentatious daughter is the kind of sweet that gives you an ache in your stomach. In the best way possible, of course. But too much at a time and her unrelenting energy has me ready to take a nap. A nap and a good long smoke, thinking about how the fuck I made such a wild child.

No, she’s not like Mac. She’s the kind of sweet that draws you in from afar, like a warm scent leading a trail to the sugary goods it promises. The kind of sweet that doesn’t over power, the kind you can never get enough of, but know you should stay away from. Or at least moderate your servings.

Little Rose.

Fuck, even the name’s too sweet. And I’m the dumb shit who gave it to her.

I tell myself to drop the juvenile nickname, tuck it away and forget about it as she got older. But to no avail, it keeps slipping from my lips. Even when my jaw is clenched it hisses through my teeth like a sick joke.

I don’t give nicknames. Not cute, little girl ones anyways. Never have. Not even Mac’s mother got anything more than a play on her name out of pity. Brin. That’s what I used to call her.

Now I’ll just stick with ‘bitch.’

Yeah it’s a nickname, but nothing cute about it or the snake it refers to.

Even Mac, it’s the least feminine name I could conjure up for Mackenzie. Because I don’t do cute.

So why’d I have to label her little friend? The one with a stick like body and knotty blonde hair. The one who blushed redder than the chipped ruby polish she picked at nervously while she averted her innocent gaze from me. The one who used to cower whenever I approached, still does. Too polite to run away from me, but too shy to gift me the sight of her crystal like eyes. 

She’s better now. More eye contact, more talking. It’s drained at times. Maybe because I’m a brute and she knows it, or because she’s too innocent for the darkness I dispel. Probably both. Either way, the reserved girl has grown braver.

And it’s a fucking problem.

She’s been walking around my empty house for several weeks now. Every time I come in the door I’m taken back by the young girl who’s not my daughter. It’s like I forget that I had agreed to my daughters whining pleas and let her closest friend, I think only friend, move in along with her. 

I didn’t think much of it. Who cares? I thought. From what I remembered of Amity Rose was that she didn’t stir up shit. She kept quiet, calm, seemingly uncaring of the world around her. Seemed a little sad at times, but she carried the weight well it appeared. 

“Better get used to having two teenage daughters now.”

Those were Mac’s words. Fair enough at the time, but now I’m not sure how long I’ll survive. It’s more like one daughter, one that makes me feel dumber than shit because I can’t process the words that come out of her rapid paced mouth half the time. And then one live in. One that’s drawing more attention from me than she should.

She’s a pretty thing. Something I wasn’t expecting from my first encounter with the small child crying on the sidewalk all those years ago. 

But that’s just a fact, not something I allow myself to dwell on. I can recognize her pure unmarked skin, or her sun kissed hair anyone would want to run their greedy hands through. Pink lips that plump up with how much she gnaws at them. Barely any makeup ever on her soft face, making her glow naturally like a fucking angel.

Too damn sweet.

But it’s all superficial, not something I focus on. Not something I can let myself focus on. 

‘Keep your eyes off that one.’ 

I made that mental note the day she moved in. Bashful and appreciative. Not wanting to be the burden she already told herself she was.

It was something else about the flushing girl who invaded my home the same way a stray kitten might. Always making herself sparse, almost like she was hiding away while I was around, coming out only when necessary. She kept things clean, made little noise and didn’t hang around like an excited puppy.

There was this energy about her. That’s the only way I can describe it. This energy radiated off of her in subtle swoops. Not just her kindness, or her innocence. 

It was more than that. It was the way she drew my unwelcome attention whenever she made an appearance. My eyes are forced on her no matter the day, the place, the time. It’s like a punch to the gut how my grown ass self gets so curious over a fucking teenager. 

Her looks aside… way the fuck aside… I try to figure her out. Try to analyze who the hell she is. 

I’ve got a knack for reading people. Always have. Being able to hone in on some ones attributes is a skill I didn’t choose, just have naturally.

But then there’s her. Little Rose.

Little fucking Rose.

I can’t read her to save my sorry life. Not for a lack of trying, believe me. She’s got a wall so thick I’m surprised she’s even got oxygen left inside. It’s strong, and obviously there for a reason. 

It’s like mine. And that’s the most intriguing part.

I got sins, regrets, guilt and a fuck ton of darkness to hide behind my thick barrier. So much of it that if anyone were to get through, they’d run screaming once they saw all that shit.

I got scars to build up my wall, along with weathered years and nightmares.

So how does Amity Rose Shine, Little Rose, Sunshine… How does she get a barricade so strong? And why does it have to be there in the first place?

I wonder this whenever I look at the seemingly simple girl. I bet everyone thinks they’ve got her figured out. In fact I know that’s what they think. Those punks at school, I’ve heard what they say. Mac gives me the play by play of each cruel word spoken to her friend, or about her.

Mac lays everything out there plain and simple. She’s never cared about the unfair judgements of anyone. She’ll let them mock her and will respond not so gracefully with more obnoxious clothing and witty jokes. 

I taught her not to take shit, and she passed that class with flying, bright colors.

It’s admirable and makes me proud even though I don’t get her most of the time. But that careless, free personality is not that of her introverted friend.

She observes, listens. Keeps her opinions to herself and minds her own damn business. All things I find even more admirable.

She comes off as an antisocial, maybe even strange kind of girl. Uninteresting, I suppose.

I asked Mac before why they like each other so much. They’re the complete opposite beings. What’s the appeal either of them see in each other?

“Opposites attract I guess. Can you imagine me being with another me all the time? The world would actually explode. I need someone like her just as much as that little flower needs someone like me. Pluuuus, she’s really funny. Just got to give her a chance.”

Mac states it plain and simple. Opposites attract. I guess that’s that then.

Although there’s nothing simple about her. I started to see it when they were just gangly kids, running through the house with dolls and glitter in their hair. There was always something lurking underneath the surface.

It wasn’t until she moved in that I realized I’m more right than anticipated.

That skin of hers, so pale and fragile, is thicker than leather. I just know it.

The way her eyes move, so subtly, when others speak. The faintest thing and yet I can practically see thoughts stirring up in her brain. Behind those orbs are all the words she doesn’t speak. All the secrets she keeps.

She’s bottled up, I’m fucking sure of it. Keeping in what she refuses to let out. It’s easier that way. That I’m fully aware of.

And I feel like a son of a bitch for wanting to know why. Why the wall, why the constant hesitation, always holding back? 

What thickened your delicate skin? What thoughts are being conjured in that little head of yours?

And why do I care?

Maybe I’m just so fucking fascinated with how she holds herself. The kindest eyes I’ve ever seen, so gentle it makes my joints ache. Her voice is like silk, soothing and tender, and too damn young to get lost in. The way she bites her bottom lip, when she’s nervous, when she’s thinking, when she has something to say but keeps it behind her teeth. The way her smile matches her personality. Genuine. I’ve never seen a smile so humbling as hers.

Little Rose. The tiny girl who shielded her eyes from me. Her cheeks like roses.

So kind. So pure. So sweet. 

And it’s driving me fucking insane.

I’m too dark to try to unleash some of her light. I’ll rip that purity right out of her and fill the empty space with my coldness. I’ve got to stay away, not matter how much just the air about her drags me closer.

An angel and a devil have no business getting too close.

And neither does a thirty five year old man and a teenage girl.

 

“Dad!” Mac’s high pitched voice rings in my ears, splitting my head open more than it already is.

I don’t drink much, usually just the occasional beer every odd day. Or I’ll crack one open with Benny while we shoot the shit.

But on nights like my last, I choose alcohol to fill in the space that sleep doesn’t.

If I’m not gonna sleep, might as well get drunk. Better than staring at the wall and thinking too much.

I roll over in bed like a brick being thrown. Heavy weight flipping over with no grace.

One arm covers my weighed down face as the bedroom door swings open, slamming into the wall like the worst alarm I could ever set.

“Dad! Are you awake?” Mac tip toes in, trying to be quiet all of the sudden, as though she didn’t just scream her way through the house a second ago.

“Sure as fuck am now.” My voice is uneven, despite my best efforts to hide the hangover. “What’s up?”

I don’t need to look at her to know she’s observing me with her lips pouted out like the little girl she still is. She knows I’m hungover. I try not to let it happen too much, not wanting to give her the wrong idea. Or worse, make her ever do the things I do. But she sees more than she lets on, always has. If fact when it comes to my irresponsible tendencies, she keeps her mouth shut. 

And that’s saying something for her.

“Well…” She plops on the bed with a bounce at my feet, crushing my foot without a care. “I just got asked to work today, so I need you to take Amity to the garage with you.”

“You work enough, they can’t make you work on your day off. It’s just a shit theater.” My girl’s almost never home. With school and work she makes sure she has little to no free time. It might just kill her if she had to be immobile for a couple hours.

“It’s all good. I don’t mind.” She responds, her eyes burning into my arm.

I drag it away from my face, revealing my sleepless eyes to my daughter. My fucking world.

She’s one of the few things I got. The best for sure. And it makes my gut tighten the way she’s looking at me. 

So aware of the state I’m in. Worry, and confusion light in her eyes. But she blinks it away and pretends she’s none the wiser. She always does.

“Anyways, I can’t take her to the garage to look at that car, and she really needs it. So since you’re stopping by today can you take her with you instead.” Mac continues on, giving me her best ‘pleeease, I’ll love you forever’ look.

“I’m not sure Amity would love having to go with just me.” And I’m not sure how I’d feel about it either.

“Nah, she’d be chill. She spends too much money ubering when I can’t give her a ride, so she’s pretty desperate for a car. And I don’t trust her ubering alone anyways. She’s got vulnerable vibes written all over her.” She shutters theatrically as this.

She’s not wrong. I don’t think I like the thought of her getting in strangers cars. Her innocence practically drips off her.

Some people might see that sweetness and want to exploit it, sprinkle some darkness on it. See what happens.

Some people…

“Sure, but she’ll have to hang for an hour or so.” I hide the reluctance in my voice.

“She won’t mind.” She hops off the bed, and my foot, and salutes me with a cheeky grin on her face. “Thank you, sir.”

“Yeah whatever, when will you be home?”

“Dinner time!” She calls from the hallway, already vanished from my room before my question was finished. “Love you!” she shouts also.

She’s a wild one. But I sure as fuck love her.

Meanwhile I’m sitting in my dimly lit room, my thoughts rushing over my tired body.

Hungover already, and now I got to take my daughters friend into work with me.

It makes me uneasy. And then irritated because it shouldn’t. A grown man and I’m worried about being in the company of a seventeen year old girl. 

The more I think about it, the more I come to the conclusion that my unease is just transferred to me from her own.

I know how she is around me. Nervous.

I make her nervous. I used to think it was just men in general. But perhaps that’s just when she was younger, not so well spoken. She would coward when men approached, I even witnessed it a few times. But not so much anymore. She’s still reserved, but her social skills are fine. It’s not so much of her not talking because she’s afraid, but more of her staying out of things. Keeping her mouth shut.

Except that doesn’t seem to apply to me. She still looks away, like my eyes might burn a hole in her tantalizing face.

I don’t have the friendliest face, that’s for damn sure. The complete opposite of Little Rose.

I’m hard, she’s soft. I’m mean, she’s kind.

Perhaps keeping her distance from me is the best defense she can have.

 

Getting out of bed took longer than it should have. I’m in good shape, have been since I was eighteen and joined the Army. But I could practically hear my bones creaking as I lifted each tired limb from my mattress.

I shower in hopes of scrubbing off the stench of my night. Brush my teeth to rid my breath of the aftermath of too much hard liquor. Throw on a grey T-shirt and some jeans, leaving my hair slightly damp, and then make my way downstairs, hoping to look a little more refreshed.

Once at the bottom of the steps I swing around, turning into the open kitchen. I want to redo it. It’s too modern for my taste. So shiny and new, completely pristine. 

The exact opposite of myself, I can’t help but feel unwelcome in my own kitchen every time I step foot in it.

“Good morning.” A soft voice stalls me as I trudge towards the fridge, needing some water to wash down whatever pain reliever I can find.

I didn’t notice Amity sitting at the kitchen table when I first entered. She’s sat in the chair with her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her body curled up and managing to fit in the small chair easily. She’s got a glass of orange juice in both her hands, holding onto it right above her knees and under her nose, like she’s savoring the smell of it.

I focus my eyes onto her own, hoping to avoid noticing too much of the shorter than shit shorts she’s sporting this morning. 

Ignoring the expanse of leg I wish wasn’t on display for me, I take in her naturally wide eyes. Eyes that are staring straight into mine.

Typically she’d have looked away by now. I’ve noticed the past several weeks that she doesn’t like people looking at her. Even with Mac, the one person she seems to be closest to, she doesn’t like to be on display.

If someone observes her for longer that she’s comfortable with, she’ll tilt her head down. Sometimes with a blush, sometimes with an unreadable expression.

To be honest, I don’t think she does it because she’s shy. I don’t even think she realizes she does it at all. Makes me curious though. And ironically makes me observe her even more.

Although right now I assume she must be wondering why I look like such shit. Her interest outweighing any discomfort that my presence usually causes her.

“Morning.” I say shortly, resuming my walk to the fridge. Once I’ve got a bottle of water out and cooling my heated hands, I make my way towards the medicine cabinet. “How much time do you need till you’re ready to go?”

“Oh,” I hear her set her glass down on the table with a soft thud. “You really don’t need to take me with you. I know Mac asked, but I don’t want you to have to worry about me while you’re there.”

Hesitant as always. I figured she would be.

“It’s not a problem, I don’t mind.” I’ve got two pills in my hand, and I knock them back and follow with a large chug of water.

I don’t miss how she eyes me strangely while I do this. Her now taking on the role of observer. I’m not sure why.

“Well, only if you’re sure it’s okay.” She speaks quietly.

“I am.” I debate whether or not to take a seat at the table across from her, but ultimately decide to occupy a barstool at the counter. “I’m ready whenever you are. There’s no rush.”

She appears to be thinking about her response, probably trying to find a way to get out of it, before saying, “Okay. I’ll just go and get changed right now.”

She hops up quickly, ready to rush off and change out of her tiny pajamas. Although her plate is still mostly full with her toast, only a few bites taken. 

“I said there’s no rush, Little Rose. Why don’t you finish your breakfast first?” My massive headache combined with my usual grumpiness makes my words come out a little rougher than intended. That’s usually how I am, despite some effort to not be.

She halts, eyeing me, then the stairs. 

“Sure.” Is all she says. Sitting back down gently and resuming her meal hurriedly. 

I should make conversation with her. Attempt at a normal interaction to replace the awkward air that surrounds us.

But I’m too damn tired. To achy. Just the smell of the eggs on her toast makes my stomach flip. 

I swear I must have drank even more than I remember last night. Fuck.

“So… what’s the car like?” Her words wash over me like honey. Soft and sweet.

I look up, watching her meticulously rip pieces of her bread up, before dipping it in the runny egg smeared across her plate. She puts it in her mouth slowly, precisely. Being sure to avoid plastering any of the mess on her clean face. She chews leisurely, mouth closed, awaiting my response.

I spin the barstool around, facing her with my arms folded in front of my chest, by body leaned back casually. “Good car. 2007 Subaru. It’s got some scrapes and a shit ton of dents.” I shouldn’t swear in front of her. She’s not my kid. But I do it anyways. She’s a big girl. A little… big girl.

“That’s okay.” She’s finished her toast, and chases it down with the remainder of her juice. Her lips puckering around the glass like…

Damn it. Don’t even fucking go there. 

I force my deceiving eyes back to hers, concentrating instead on her long, butterfly like lashes.

“I don’t really care about what it looks like. I’ll take anything at this point. As long as it can get me to school, work and back, then I’m more than happy.” She picks up her dishes, passing a foot away from me to get to the sink. Her scent wafts teasingly as she floats past.

Fuck, she even smells too sweet.

I watch as she washes each dish. A cleanly trait I wish she’d pass off to my daughter. “It should be good for you. It was a total, but we’ve got it mostly fixed up. Don’t have too much left to do. Not too many miles on it either.”

“Sounds good. It would be nice to not have to uber everywhere when Mac’s busy.” She tucks a few strands of her hair behind her ear. The perfect waves still slightly untamed from her night’s sleep.

“Don’t really get what Uber is. But I don’t want either of you girls doing it alone.” I huff out.

“Oh no, don’t worry.” She looks at me over her shoulder. There’s a happy gleam in her eye for whatever reason. “I think it’s actually pretty safe. I’ve been doing it for a while now.”

Don’t really give a damn what you think, sweetheart. You don’t know how cruel the world can be.

I don’t say what I think, only grunt at her attempt to assure the parent inside of me. “Why have you not gotten a car until now, anyways?”

I figured the answer would be a simple one, but her brows furrow, just barely. Telling me she’s thinking about her answer carefully.

After a moment she faces me fully, playing with those goddamn nails again. “I guess I just never really had enough money, until now. I’ve been saving for a while.”

She’s been saving since she was fifteen. I know this because her and Mac both did as soon as they got their first jobs. Mac’s a real spender. Money doesn’t usually get too comfortable in her account, knowing it’s going to be taken out faster than it was put in. Amity doesn’t seem to be the same way though. In fact I’ve heard her several times refusing to buy clothes or go out because she doesn’t want to waste the money.

Yet somehow, Mac managed to save enough for her car. A fairly nice one too. Makes me wonder where Amity’s money goes.

“Your brother has a car, doesn’t he?” I remember Anthony, the terror I was glad to not live on the same street as anymore, dropping Mac off one night after they all went out and did whatever the hell teenagers do these days.

“Yeah, my mom helped him get it so he could drive us around.” I watch her gaze flick down, just for a second, before returning to me.

“She helping you with yours?” It doesn’t really matter. But I can’t help but ask.

“Uh, no. She probably figures I’ve got things handled as far as getting from place to place.” She crosses her arms across her chest, rubbing them a little too hard, like she’s cold. She probably is seeing that she needs to put on some more clothes. Like a lot more fucking clothes.

“Hmm.” Is all I say to that. “How is your mom? And your brother?”

Continuing to hug herself, she replies with a neutral expression. “They seem good. I called Anthony the other day and he says my grandma’s house is super nice. He says his new school is too. Although he wasn’t able to give me any sort of information about it when I asked… and he sounded pretty high when I was talking with him. Sooo, pretty sure him saying his school is nice just means he’s able to ditch easy.”

She smirks as she says this. Just one side of her pink lips turning up, either because she thinks it’s funny, or just ridiculous. 

Her humor fades in an instant though, replaced with a timid look of concern.

“Maybe I shouldn’t be voicing my speculations of him sneaking probably a large amount of weed with him when he left.” She’s saying this with genuine worry, but she still said exactly what she thought.

“Doubt you’re wrong.” I say before taking another less aggressive sip of my water, feeling the cool liquid drop directly into the pit of my empty stomach. “Not even gonna ask where the hell he gets that shit from.” Either a fake ID, or someone’s buying it for him.

I won’t judge the kid. He’s done some messed up shit, but still nothing in the ball park of what Benny and I stirred up when we were his age. 

He wants to get high, by all means. As long as he doesn’t wrap Amity into that crap. Just the thought of her, such a lightweight, so uncontaminated, getting high, rubs me the wrong way. 

“Yeah I don’t bother trying to figure anything out when it comes to him. We may have shared a cell for nine months, but by the time we were born that was the extent of our similarities.” She’s back to humoring me with that steady rise of her lips. 

Feels like a treat to have her sharing that smile with me. The way it forms so naturally. The elusive way it guarantees her genuine happiness behind the simple upturn of her mouth.

Damn. I’ll have to remember to punch myself when I’m alone for paying so much attention to this teenage girls fucking lips.

“Yeah, don’t look much like each other either.” I state. No one would assume those two were twins. Eyes, hair, skin tones, size, all total opposites from each other.

“Nope. He took after my mom’s side, and me my dad’s.” She shutters at that.

“Don’t seem too happy about that.” I say, thinking to myself that she doesn’t look much like either of her parents. They’re honestly not the best looking people. Is that a shit thing to say? Yeah. But it’s the fucking truth. She’s one hell of a rose that sprouted in a thorny bush.

“Well, my dad’s side is kind of…” She pouts her lips, turning her eyes up in thought, choosing her next word carefully. “… dorkish.”

“Dorkish?” I roll the silly name off my tongue slowly, internally chuckling at her odd choice of word.

“Yeah.” She sighs. Mostly with humor, but with some hesitation. “Like, all of them, the entire Shine family. They still dress like their moms picked their outfits. I mean my cousins wear their jeans up to their belly buttons every day, with their t-shirts tucked in all snug, and their belts done too tightly. They all give off Napoleon Dynamite vibes, talk like him too.”

I actually let out a chuckle. A rumbling sound that resonates from deep in my chest. Partly because her description, combined with the slightly horrified look on her face, is entertaining. But also partly because it refreshing to have her so talkative with me this morning.

“Heh, doesn’t sound like you’re describing anyone like yourself.”

“Well maybe not as far as the way I dress, or act… hopefully. But as far as my face goes, I look like a total Shine.” She says as she rocks on her heels.

Sunshine? That’s for sure. Dorkish? Definitely not a word I’d use to describe her.

“I’d say you’re far from dorkish.” I stand, rising high above her short frame, making my way to the fridge for another water, having already mindlessly drained my first one. “Too pretty for that word, Little Rose.”

I speak without thinking. Only realizing I might have crossed a line, one I didn’t even know I was getting close to, when I replay the words in my head.

She doesn’t even say anything for a beat, just stands there, probably trying to wrap her head around why some old fuck just called her pretty. Meanwhile I stand with the fridge open, knowing I’m such an asshole for saying that to her.

You’d think calling a girl pretty could never be a bad thing. But when said girl is half your fucking age and not even legal, it might come off as creepy as fuck. 

Hoping she’s not reading too much into this, I shut the fridge, harder than intended, and glance at her. Knowing she’s not one to speak when she’s got eager thoughts running through that head of hers, I know my best bet to gage her reaction will be to study her face.

I don’t get a chance though. She’s staring at her bare toes, her hands behind her back where I am pretty confident she’s plucking at those nails. She’s embarrassed, her body language says as much.

“Thanks.” Just a whisper spilling form her mouth, barely even making it to my waiting ears.

Maybe she means it. Maybe she just thinks that’s what she should say. Doesn’t really matter at this point though. Figure I’ll just forget my fuck up and hope she does the same.

“Why don’t you go get ready.” I speak shortly. Not so much suggesting she get ready, but more demanding it.

I’m irritated suddenly by how much I analyze this girl. Like I just need to know every thought, every emotion that runs through her complicated, fragile little head. Shouldn’t waste so much of my thoughts on what a seventeen year old girl is thinking. Shouldn’t care what she thinks of me.

“Oh yeah,” she looks up, already starting to back away. “I’ll be back down in just a minute. I only need to change my clothes.”

She has sprinted up the stairs and gone out of my sight before I even realize that I had been staring at her legs her whole journey up the steps. 

God dammit, they’re just fucking legs. Not even much to them. They’re pale, look pretty damn smooth though. However, I like legs that are long, leading straight up like an invitation to a plump, curvy ass.

Long legs, are not something Amity has. Toned? Sure. But not long. And a curvy ass? Nope. She’s not filled out like the full-fledged woman I’m used to. Her curves are subtle, and her ass only just plump enough to-

Jesus fucking Christ. What the fuck, man? Why the hell am I even thinking about Amity’s body?

I gotta go see Tisha soon. With the girls moving in I’ve been keeping a little distance. But I need to remind myself of what a real woman’s body looks like. Preferably while I’m fucking her. 

Because, right now, thinking about Little Rose, and the curves of a woman’s body all at the same time, is sure to screw my mind up even more than it fucking is.

 

 

Pretty sure I just looked like a scared little child, fleeing from the big bad wolf, with the way I just bolted from the kitchen.

‘Too pretty for that word, Little Rose.’

Those words, echoing from deep in his chest, spoken as though he didn’t even have to think about them before spilling them from his mouth. My zealous ears perking up at the complement, enthusiastic to hear the gravely waves of his voice as he called me… pretty.

‘Too pretty… Little Rose.”

Maybe it’s the contrast of the words and the man speaking them that riles me. Such gentle words, but they come from just the opposite kind of man. I hardly even think I’ve heard him speak so softly to Mac, he’s always so short and to the point, no time for flowery praise.

Don’t read into it, Amity. 

I know reasonably there is no further meaning behind that sentence, that statement. He said it as simply as he would have said cute, or adorable. Pretty was just a filler word for a different meaning than what I was hoping. He only meant I wasn’t a dork, only reassured me the same way any parent would to a child.

But still, I replay it in my head like the most annoying, but oddly satisfying, song. Over and over again. Remembering each sound, each syllable as it slid off his tongue.

‘Pretty.’

I know better. I’m not as naïve as everyone loves to believe. The words were innocently spoken, but the feeling of joy, as well as bashfulness, that I felt so suddenly afterwards, is too good to let go. So I’ll allow myself to believe, even just in fantasy, that there was truth to what he said. That in fact he didn’t just mean to call me cute, like a little girl, but indeed called me pretty. Too pretty.

I’m not even gonna let myself feel weird about believing in such praise from Duke, form Mac’s dad. It would make any young girl feel validated in her looks to be complimented by a man of any age. But specifically a man like Duke. 

Handsome, confident, big.

He’s no nonsense and says it like it is. No sugar coating, no trying to spare feelings. A fact I’ve known for years now, but was reminded of once moving in.

I’ve seen him scold Mac, and learned he’s officially the only person that can get her to shut up.

He’s incredibly laid back most of the time. Just don’t piss him off, which seems to be the ultimate lesson when it comes to him.

Sometimes I’m scared of him. Sometimes I’m shy around him. Sometimes I feel the air get stolen from my lungs when he walks in the room.

But all the time I get flutters dancing delicately in the deepest part of my stomach.

I tell myself it’s because he’s handsome. That’s the most innocent answer I can think of. I don’t have to feel guilty about finding someone, who catches the dazzling gazes of most women, attractive.

It’s the other part about him that I try to ignore. Like how embarrassingly red he can make my cheeks. How I listen just that much more intently whenever he speaks. Or how I’ve memorized his work schedule, his habits, always knowing when he typically comes home. I remember the times so that on days when I want to hide from him, I can. And on days I want to sneak a peek, I’m waiting and ready. 

I like to see him when he gets back from a run. Always sweaty. Sweaty in that, makes my skin shiver, kind of way. T-shirts always clinging so tight it’s almost unfair of him to tease me with the view.

Ugh… I sound like a freak.

Or a stalker. Definitely a stalker.

I’m not religious. And I’m not one to pray. But I’ve asked anyone above willing to listen to my pathetic pleas to let me find a version of Duke my own age. 

Because I seriously need my mind taken off of my best friend’s dad.

 

I managed to change quickly, remembering the directness in his tone when he told me to. Just a yellow V-neck and some ripped up jeans. They didn’t come ripped, but I’ve worn them for so long they started tearing on their own, so I DIY’d them to make it appear like all the shredded material was intended to be there.

Throw on some sneakers and make my way quickly down the stairs. The usual battling emotions hitting me when I reach the bottom, realizing I’m going alone with Duke.

Excitement to be around him. Dread to be alone with him.

“You ready?” I don’t realize I’ve stalled at the bottom of the stair case until Duke appears from the living room, keys already in hand.

I can’t read his tone, but his face looks impatient. This is why I said he didn’t have to take me. I don’t think he’s too keen on having to drag me along with him.

I curse at Mac for working. It’s her day off, but she just couldn’t help herself. Now I’m left with her dad in this weird duo, and surely a morning of awkwardness.

“Yup, ready.” I force my voice to come out. A little shaky but not too bad.

He’s out to the garage without another word, expecting me to follow him.

I climb into his truck, the same one he’s had since the day I met him. It’s just an extension of him at this point. I hope he always keeps it.

We allow silence to sweep over us for the first few minutes of the drive. But the strange air is making me uncomfortable, and seeing that I strive off of silence, that’s saying something.

“Sooo,” I cut into the quiet. “Why the garage?”

“What do you mean?” He keeps his eyes on the road. One hand on the wheel, the other laid comfortably on the console.

“Did you always want to start a shop? Always want to work on cars? Or was it sort of just something that came about?” I’ve wondered this before. Mac says she never really understood why he just started a garage all of the sudden, it had never been something he talked about doing before.

She also said when he came back home, back for good, he came back different. I’m old enough now to understand what that means. What the bandages he wore that day on his couch, the day I first saw him after he returned, meant. 

Something happened to him. Maybe even wrecked him. And if something was able to tear down Duke Jenson, I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to know what it was.

He tilts his head towards me slightly, just to give me a quick glance before returning to the road.

My thoughts draw me immediately to the scar that mars his face. Just above the brow bone, and just barely dipping into the brow itself. It’s healed nicely. But still noticeable. Not quite straight, a little jagged.

I find it fascinating, and sometimes have to tell myself not to stare.

“Worked with my dad at his own garage when I was your age. Benny knew a lot about them too. We needed jobs and neither of us went to college, so, figured we’d try our luck.”

“Huh, well I guess you had good luck then.” The garage picked up and took off. Keeps him busy and puts money in his pocket. Sounds like it worked out to his favor.

“Yeah,” He pauses, his eyes going blank for a moment, as they sometimes do. “I guess so.”

“So you never did any college after you graduated?” I ask, not really thinking of what I’m saying, just wanting to continue a conversation.

“No, I enlisted as soon as I turned eighteen. Finished school with my GED so I could pack up and get a move on as soon as I could.”

“What about Mac?”

My question catches him off guard. Like I struck a tender spot. “She was born while I was gone.”

“Huh.” I already knew this, so I don’t know why I asked. Maybe because I was curious about more. Like how he met her mom. When did they get married? Did it hurt him every time he left his family as much as it hurt Mac?

“Lots of shit happened while I was gone.” He mumbles. And the dryness in his voice tells me I should change the subject.

I don’t know what else to say, but luckily he speaks up. “So, what will it be for you then? Haven’t heard you talk much about your plans when school ends.”

That’s because I have none.

“I’m not really sure, I guess.” I breathe out, partially sighing because I really have no clue.

“Not much time left. You want to go to college?” Oh boy. I can feel a total dad lecture coming on. And he’s not even my dad.

Definitely not my dad.

“I know. Trust me I know. But the problem isn’t me not wanting to go to college, it’s just that I don’t know what I want to do once I get there. I feel like everyone at least has an idea, or even just a fall back, but I’ve got nothing.” I cross my arms, slouching in the seat.

He eyes my irritated movement with amusement. “Not everyone knows. You ought to just go and wait for something to come to you. Get your generals out of the way, figure out the rest later.”

“It’s probably what I’ll have to do. I just don’t want to waste time or money if I end up dropping out.” I state, preparing myself for the, ‘education is never a waste’ talk.

Which is true, but it’s more of the waste of money I desperately can’t afford.

“Makes sense.” He taps his fingers without rhythm on the steering wheel. My attention drawn to the thickness of his fingers. The choppy bluntness of his nails. “So if you could do anything, no limitations, what would you want your life to look like in the future?”

“Hmm,” I pretend to be thinking, but I already know the answer. “Well, I’d travel. Like everywhere.”

“Good answer, but it takes a lot of money to travel.” He isn’t saying this to belittle my wants, he’s just stating it.

“True, there come’s the issue.” Another sigh escapes me.

“So the question is, what will you do to make that money?” He continues.

“Heh, you’re sounding like a total dad right now.” I snicker, looking out the window.

His response is so immediate I’m taken back by his urgency. “I’m not your dad.”

It’s a statement, a fact. But he demands it, like he’s trying to make sure I hear him.

I remove my stare from the other cars passing alongside us, and turn towards him. 

Our eyes meet, my mouth open, ready to say something. I’m not sure what. But I’m halted when our gazes lock. 

I can’t read him. He’s completely closed off like a cell block. He’s beyond serious, his brows knitted together in a tense way. And there’s something in his eyes that catches my attention, stealing the words from my mouth.

He’s breaks the trance first. Ending the weird, unexplainable, way our eyes were almost having a conversation of their own.

He returns his attention to the road, while I stare into my lap, playing with my fingers while the familiar warmth enter my cheeks.

“Yeah, you’re not my dad.” I whisper. Barely breathing the words out of my mouth. He probably didn’t even hear the reminder leaving my lips.

“I just mean, I’m not trying to act like your dad here.” He assures after clearing his throat dryly.

I hate it when this happens. The strange air that surrounds us after a weird look, or an unintentional statement. 

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe there’s nothing weird about it and I just make more of everything than there actually is to it. Maybe I’m just socially awkward, despite my best efforts, and I’m the one that makes things weird.

Trying to dispel the sudden change in atmosphere, I continue where I had left off. “I guess my problem is that I don’t want to be stuck doing something I don’t want to do. Working a nine to five that makes me miserable, just so I can afford all my basic needs so I can stay alive and keep working said job. It just doesn’t appeal to me.”

“But what if that nine to five job makes you a lot of money, enough so you can travel wherever you want?” He shoots back, also continuing where we left off, although he does have a slight tenseness to his stubbled jaw.

“Doesn’t matter.” I lift my legs up, sitting cross legged in my seat. Earning me a cross glare from him. I’m about to remove my legs, but he turns back to driving, and doesn’t say anything, so I stay. “I’d rather work a job I love and make little money. Money isn’t what I’m after, I just, I don’t know. I guess I don’t really need things to make me happy. I don’t want to travel to stay in five star hotels or eat at the nicest restaurants. I want to travel to experience the culture, or all the stuff that we don’t get here. And while being able to travel anywhere I want would be nice, I still don’t want to have to come home just to go back to that boring job that makes me hate my life.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know. It sounds stupid, obviously life isn’t that simple. But I can hope.” I shrug, hoping he’ll respond.

He doesn’t for a while though, he just sits, and listens. It’s what he always does. He lets me talk. He lets me have his attention. He doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t make it about him. He just takes in what I have to say, processes it, then responds when he knows I’ve said everything.

He’s the only person I’ve ever met that does this to me. The only person who makes me want to be the one to talk, not just listen.

“It’s not stupid.” He speaks, unreadable as ever. “In fact, it’s a good way to think. A lot of times being money driven is the most harmful things you can do to yourself.”

I nod my head. Happy he’s not lecturing me like my parents would have.

“You’re smart.” He parks the truck in front of the garage. I hadn’t noticed we had even arrived. “Not just book smart, but I mean actually smart.” He taps his finger on his temple.

“Oh… thanks.” I say shyly.

“Hope you’re thinking doesn’t change, Little Rose. Hope you don’t let anyone change it either.”

I gawk at him. Gawk at his words, his understanding, his encouragement. Just him.

I can’t respond though before a booming voice from outside fills the car. 

“Sunshiiiine!” I turn to find Benny, who I feel I haven’t seen in forever, coming towards us. We both get out of the car, meeting the enthusiastic man. “Well where the fuck have you been little one? I was starting to think you were a cripple hater. I promise, I won’t take my leg off in front of you, as sexy as I look just hopping around on one leg.” He crosses his fingers in front of his heart, sealing his promise.

He smirks playfully, and I instantly remember Benny is basically a child himself, truly needing to be monitored when around others.

“Knock it off Benny.” Duke warns. The tone of his voice lower than usually, and pretty terrifying. But Benny doesn’t seem affected. Simply smiling cheekily at him before facing me. His body towering over me the same way Duke’s does.

What the hell do these men eat?

“Don’t tell me Mac made you come here alone with this brute?” Benny goes on, shifting his weight to his one good leg.

“Mac’s working. So I’m showing her the Impeza.” Duke interjects before I can respond, my mouth parted with unspoken words.

“Fuck yeah.” Benny chirps.

“Cool it, man.” Duke warns again.

I giggle. These two couldn’t be more different, yet I’ve heard both of them refer to the other as brother, even though they’re not actually related.

“What? She’s eighteen.” Benny brushes Duke off, waving his hands at me.

“Seventeen.” Me and Duke say in sync, causing Benny to hold up his hands in surrender.

“Whoa, well excuse me for my freaking mouth. I’ll keep my gosh darn swear words to myself until the young lady comes of decent cursing age.” He backs away with a chuckle.

Duke swears in front of me all the time, he’s just giving his friend a hard time. 

“Heh, I don’t mind.” I shrug, slipping my cool hands in to the back pockets of my jeans.

“Fuck yeah she doesn’t mind! Let’s head inside.” He claps his oily hands together with glee, walking backwards into the large, open garage door. “These assholes in here,” he points behind him to the working men inside. “Way worse than me. So don’t let them touch a single little hair on your head.”

I laugh like it’s a joke, but as soon as I step into the pungent smelling shop, I feel like a piece on display. Not something I like.

It occurs to me that the last time I was here I had braces keeping my crooked teeth prisoner and lacked a few inches of height that I now have, and cherish. I was just a short, gangly preteen with knobby legs and a flat chest. 

Still am short, but a little taller. Still lack certain assets, certain curves. And while they aren’t anything to write home about, I’ve at least grown a set of boobs and have squatted my body to the point of giving out just to get some shape to my ass. I’ve lost the braces and replaced it with a pretty straight smile.

But still, I’m just a small teenage girl, hardly anything to take notice of.

Except these men are looking at me like Duke just brought a big cake with the words ‘eat me’ frosted on top.

Either I’m reading their gazes wrong, or they’re just desperate for a female presence. Because no way are they actually looking at me that way. I mean, why would they?

I instinctively look towards Duke, trying to see if he notices the ogling of his employees. Judging by the angry flick in his eyes, I think he’s noticed. 

Benny’s none the wiser as he makes his way to the back of the shop, singing out loud to whatever rock song is playing overhead. His fist pumps with the beat, a greasy rag in hand.

I decide to ignore the stares, even though the unwelcomed attention practically burns my skin.

But it doesn’t burn as much as the large hand which lands forcefully on my upper back, directly between my shoulder blades. 

It startles me, but I remain still, noticing the goosebumps that arise despite how much warmth transfers from his hand to my back.

I don’t even chance a glance at Duke, too aware of the flush that swarms my body due to his touch. So I just keep my gaze to the oily covered, concrete floor.

“Come on.” Duke grunts, leading me with the large expanse of his hand, past all the cars, to the back end of the garage.

My feet carry me unsteady, and wobbly. My side practically pressed up against Duke’s. I can even smell him, an opportunity I don’t pass up.

He’s earthy, with a little spice. Fresh. Manly.

I’m properly heated by the time we make it to what I assume to be the prospective car.

It’s elevated in the air on one of those car lift things. It’s silver, small, and definitely dented. Looks like it’s got that Colorado hail damage all over its top.

I really don’t care though. As long as it drives.

“Cute and little. Just like you.” Benny chirps, patting the side of the car.

“Guess it’s meant for me then.” I say, fully aware that Duke has not removed his hand.

“You mind all the scratches? Or the dents?” Duke asks.

“Yeah, looks like a pimply teen with all these spots.” Benny adds.

I chuckle. “No, I don’t mind at all. A few scrapes don’t bug me.”

I’m about to continue but my voice leaves me when Duke’s thumb strokes my back, just along the shoulder blade. One, two, three strokes, then he’s gone. Not just gone, he practically snaps his hand away. Like he just realized my skin was on fire and he had been dipping into the flames.

I miss him as soon as he’s gone. Just a hand. Just a touch. But I crave to feel it again. 

He clears his throat, just like he did earlier in the car. “We can bring it down, let you take a look inside. The interior is in pretty good shape.”

“Okay, thanks.” I brave looking at him, but his eyes aren’t focusing on me, just observing the car. 

“I’ll bring it down for ya.” Benny says before rounding to the other side, opposite us.

As the car creaks down, I ask, “So, how much?”

He thinks. For a while. I almost wonder if he heard me before he finally speaks up. “Let’s call it a thousand.”

A thousand? I know for a fact this car is worth more than that. Not to mention all the work he’s putting in to in. I mean it’s been here for weeks and he’s not even done.

“No way. How much does all the repairs you’re doing cost?” I fold my arms, eyeing him with a raised brow.

“Not that much.” He meets me with an arched brow of his own. “It’s a total, which brings the value down when it comes to selling.”

“Still, I know it’s worth more. So I want you to charge me more.” I demand. Well… as best as my little voice can demand.

“Not gonna happen, sweetheart. That’s how much I’m selling it for. You don’t take it, someone else will.” He huffs. 

He’s stubborn, and I know I probably can’t change his mind. But I want to at least try.

“Well, then… I don’t know, at least let me… help, or something.” I don’t know the last thing about cars, but maybe there’s something I can do. 

His lips twitch as his hands find his hips. He stands there, his large frame so relaxed, so cool.

I do something I never do, and lick my lips. I actually lick my lips after taking in his imposing figure. And he notices.

He catches the movement and follows it with interest. Probably wondering why I just did that, why I just slowly dragged my tongue across my lower lip for no apparent reason. 

I feign being unaware. Pretending it was nothing more than me moistening my chapped skin. Pretending he’s not still looking at my mouth for a second longer than he should.

He snaps out of it quickly enough though. Returning his attention to the car, exhaling deeply before responding to my request of helping with the car. “You know anything about cars, Little Rose?”

Nope. 

“Nooo, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help somehow, right?” I lift up on my toes lightly, watching the car come to the ground with a gentle thud.

“Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you decide if you even want it first?” Duke steps up, opening the driver’s side door for me.

It’s nice inside. Clean and relatively undamaged, unlike the outside. Black cotton seats, an updated stereo system, and a touch screen display. It’s even smaller on the inside than it appeared on the out.

“Wow, no way would either of you guys fit in this thing.” I state, now sitting inside where I fit perfectly.

“Probably not.” Duke says, running his hands along the outside, probably assessing the damage.

“Don’t know. I fold pretty nicely.” Benny hops into the passenger seat, demonstrating how his freakish limbs are capable of compressing.

I can’t help but laugh because he really looks ridiculous. His knees are way closer to his chest than they should be. And from the outside I’m sure you could barely even see his head.

Benny’s giving me some car facts that shoot straight over my head when Duke ducks down, right next to me. Very close to me.

“Ben, you mind keeping her company for a sec?”

“Sure thing.”

I figure he has to actually get some work done while he’s here, and I feel guilty once again for being such a burden.

Once Duke’s out of sight, Benny turns to me, shifting his body awkwardly as best he can in the too small of seat. “So, tell me. How are you surviving at the Jenson household?”

I shrug casually. “It’s been good. Love living with Mac. Tires me out by the end of the night though.” I snicker, rubbing my hands up and down the steering wheel, trying to get a feel for the car.

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder if she’s actually my child instead of Duke’s. Can’t figure out how he got such a spit fire.” He chuckles.

I eye him questioningly.

“She obviously isn’t. She would have turned out a fuck of a lot weirder if I raised her.” Benny grins at me.

“Mac? Weirder? That’s a thought.”

We laugh, before Benny keeps going. “Mac’s one hell of a kid. Got a pretty damn good dad too.” He crosses his arms. “How’s it going with that one?”

“Who, Duke?” I ask, wiggling my fingers nervously on the wheel, not wanting to talk about Duke.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?” I act defensive.

“Just curious. Plus I’m trying to get on your level. A little gossip session. That’s what you girls do right? Talk shit and spill some secrets. But in a classy cutesy way that makes it seem less nasty than it really is.”

I gape at him. He’s spot on with what the average teenage girl spends their evenings doing. “Well sorry to disappoint, but I’ve got nothing to spill. No hot piece of information to share today.” I quip at him.

“That’s too bad. You’re probably pretty bored living with the hulk over there.”

“I don’t see him that much. I’m usually working or hanging with Mac.” I respond.

“So no problems at casa de Jenson?” I don’t know why he’s asking so much. He’s practically drilling me for some sort of information that I just don’t have.

“Nope. Everything’s been good. They’ve been really nice to me, letting me just move in.” 

“Good, good.” He turns his head, focusing on something on the side of the shop near the offices. “No problems with that one either?”

I have to lean into the console a little, stretching my head to see what holds Benny’s eyes.

Standing outside the main office door is Duke, his arms crossed, and his face looking almost angry, or at least annoyed. His expression is directed towards the tall woman, with shiny black hair that sits thickly in a too perfect A-line cut, that is currently holding onto his muscled arms, running her manicured nails up and down the hair that grows there.

She’s smiling at him, in a sort of mischievous way, like she’s asking him for something he’s not too keen to give her.

I already know exactly who she is. “I’m guessing that’s Tisha?”

“Yeah, you can call her Tisha, Tish, Psycho Ho. It all works.” Benny practically trembles as he looks at her.

“Whoa, not a fan?” I ask, surprised by his blunt description, but not upset because I’m choosing to believe him.

“She’s not necessarily a bitch like the former Mrs. Jenson, but she doesn’t rank too high in my books none the less.” He claims, taking his eyes off the couple, who my eyes have still not left. “But listen, you didn’t hear that from me. If he asks, I told you she was lovely and definitely not a slut. Got it?”

Definitely not a slut? Whatever. Mac told me basically the same thing. In fact I’m pretty sure she used the word ho as well.

“She’s pretty and probably bows down at my dad’s feet to get whatever she wants from him. But she’s a ho, I’m telling you, just wait till you meet her.” Mac was all too eager to dish on what a floozy the woman her father has taken the company of is. She went on for what felt like hours one night ranting about the woman, oblivious of course to the jealousy it sparked in my irrational mind.

“How long have they been together?” I ask, still watching the intimate touches she places on his arms, his chest. Her hands running up and down.

“Fuck if I know. Don’t really care much either, other than when I have to have dinner with her. Then I care, because that shit is tough to deal with. You not met her yet?” He goes on.

“No I haven’t.” I say coldly, not aware of my tone as I’m too busy spying.

Her jeans are so tight they’re gonna have to be cut off. They mold to her ass in a way that leaves little to the imagination. And there’s a lot going on in that area, also her chest. She’s got ample breasts, but not an appropriate shirt to contain them. They’re spilling out, and it’s obvious it’s intentional. The way she juts them out while she pouts her lips, making her makeup painted face look as cute as she can manage.

I’m guessing she’s at least thirty, and I’m guessing Duke likes how filled out she is. How womanly she is. How beautiful she is.

I don’t even compare to her.

I wish I didn’t feel that ache behind my ribs watching them. Watching her rub on him. Watching him let her. I feel dread, which is ridiculous considering he’s just Mac’s dad. He’s just Mr. Jenson. That’s it.

He’s the man whose letting me invade his home since mine was taken away from me. 

He’s the man who felt pity for me, who’s throwing me a bone I desperately needed.

That’s who he is. 

He shouldn’t be a man that makes my body stir and my skin tingle. Or a man who catches my attention in inappropriate ways. Ways that a seventeen year old girl shouldn’t look at a grown man.

And he definitely shouldn’t pull this kind of reaction from me. 

Jealousy because she’s touching him, when I’m so curious what it would feel like to drag my hands up the plains of his chest.

When she tips up on her toes, gaining just enough distance between them to press her lips to his, I swear my breath catches, getting stuck somewhere in my throat.

When he kisses her back, meeting his lips to her own, I have to force myself to look away. I mentally peel my scorched eyes off them, looking down at my lap, feeling the urge to pick at my ill-treated nails.

They’re dating, they can kiss all they want. I wasn’t even supposed to be watching.

“Oh boy.” Benny’s voice interrupts my sulking. “That aint good.”

“What?” I don’t bother looking up, assuming he’s about to say something regarding the kissing couple I’m now trying to avoid.

“The look on your face.” He’s getting out of the car. Unfolding himself with a few grunts.

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“The look on your face.” He’s out of the car, and now leaning down to peer at me through the open door, one arm draped across the top of the car. “Be careful there princess, don’t go catching any feelings for someone you can’t have them for.”

He walks away then, leaving me after he spoke the most serious words he has all day. Even his perky face dropped for a moment. 

My jaw is practically on the floor. Was I really that obvious? So obvious that Benny was able to read into my expression, and read into it correctly.

I let my shock keep me caught off guard for another moment, before forcing my body out of the car. Bringing me back to the real world where the music blasts and men are yelling across the room. 

I’m not sure what to do. Duke’s… busy… and Benny’s talking to some other men. So I walk awkwardly over to a metal bench near where the car sits.

I take a seat, letting the cool metal reawaken my tense body. I tell myself to keep my focus on the men working, on the bustling of the work space. But I feel a pull guiding me back towards where Duke stands.

She’s gone, I didn’t even realize she left. And I can’t say I’m disappointed.

But Duke remains in the same spot, only this time leaning against the wall lazily. He’s got one hand in his pocket and a cigarette in the other, pressing against his lips.

I knew he smoked, but he doesn’t do it in the house, or around us. So this is the first time I’ve seen him in the oddly attractive act.

He’s standing there, smoking, looking powerful and in charge in this garage he owns. The sight of him is ogle worthy.

And that’s what I do. I ogle his form leisurely. Taking in every outline of his frame from bottom to top. Admiring, studying him like he’s a piece of art. A worn, imperfect piece of art that’s far more fascinating than any shiny or knew work.

I’m in a trance, utterly mesmerized by him. Completely unaware of my surroundings in this moment of appreciation.

That is until my stare meets his face. His face that’s already locked on my own form. 

His features are unreadable, but his eyes are curious, like my own. As though he was doing the same secretive looking that I was.

Like he just roamed over my miniscule frame with the same wonder as I did his own.

He doesn’t even look away, and neither do I. A whole new trance engulfing me.

We remain in this daze for longer than is appropriate. And we both know it. But neither of us seem to have the mentality to pull away.

We’re lost in a spell, or a curse. One or the other. Until it’s broken, ripped harshly at the seams by an employee joining Duke for a smoke. And by Benny plopping down next to me.

The moment is over. Our eyes no longer locked. I’m now left staring at the floor once again, half listening to Benny rant about some crazy new TV show. My primary thoughts though are on Duke.

Why did we stare for so long? I mean, I know why I did. But why would he?

Was he just analyzing me in that way he seems to like to do? Or… was it something else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and are looking forward to where things go from here! Slow burns can get annoying especially when you just want to get right down to it, but I'm building these two up and looking to make it worth the wait!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter up ahead! Hope you enjoy!

“Mom, please. He took it all, and I need that money for my car!” I’m pleading, begging, possibly crying to my mom like I’m twelve years old again. My best efforts to act like a composed adult shot out the window along with my tolerance.

My money, the money I worked for, tirelessly with shit pay, snatched from me once again.

“I’m so sorry sweetie, I-I wish I could do something, but… Why did you even keep that money in your account, you were supposed to get paid in checks from now on?” My mom sounds fed up, not necessarily with me, but with the same old drama that caused her to flee from her life here.

Yeah, I’ve asked several times now, but my manager is about as clueless as they come. I’ve hounded, uncharacteristically, for my paychecks to no longer come as direct deposits anymore, but no matter the excessive amount of nagging I lay on Claudia, she can’t seem to get on it.

I’m sat on the steps of the pool in the backyard, surrounded by mountains which usually bring me peace, but unfortunately can’t on this day. The water sits level right under my breasts, calm and cool, unlike my current mental state.

I close my eyes, take three calculated inhales followed by deep exhales. What my mom doesn’t realize is I’m as fed up as she is.

“I’m trying to get work to change my paychecks, but it’s taking a while. So until then I’ve been going to the bank as soon as the money is transferred to my account and am taking it all out. But he beat me to it this time!” I’m definitely crying now. My face already wet from the swim I was hoping would relax my tense muscles and angry core.

It didn’t work though. Now I’m just sat here, the sun setting in what should be a beautiful moment, but instead I must look like a drowned rat. My hair tangled and dripping just as much as the mascara and tears rolling down my face.

“Amity… I want to help you but you know I don’t have the money. I just, I can’t. You need to get the work thing figured out and get rid of that bank account.” I swear she’s lecturing me right now, and I have to physically hold in my less than friendly thoughts. I haven’t done anything wrong. 

I never did anything wrong. But still, I’m punished.

My money, snatched away from me like it was never even mine to begin with. And by my own dad.

You would have thought I’d learned my lesson the first time I was deceived. The first time my naivety was taken advantage of, abused without care.

Before I was unaware of how unsecure my personal possessions truly were. But now I’m more than knowledgeable of how tightly I need to hold onto what little I have.

But still no matter my efforts I wasn’t fast enough.

“But he’s bringing me the car today, and I only have five hundred and fifty in cash.” My paycheck went through today, and despite how quickly I made for the bank, I was too late. Every penny gone, once again leaving me nearly dry, aside from the cash I had managed to snag in time from my last paycheck.

“How much do you need?” She asks through a tired sigh.

“A thousand total.” I rub my arms, shivers creeping up my body from the fall air.

“I don’t have that much to send, but listen… I’m sure he will understand, maybe let you work off the rest, or just say you’ll pay him in a few weeks.” My mom states, although I can hear someone speaking in the background, grabbing her already divided attention.

“I told him I had the money though! And he is already charging me next to nothing for this car. Do you know how embarrassing it would be telling him I literally only have five hundred dollars to my name? He’s going to think I’m some slacker who’s just mooching off of him for his house and a new car. Because there’s no way I’m telling him that my dad stole all my money!”

That my dad stole everything from me.

I hear sniffling then. Just a faint uneven breathing from the other line, and I immediately regret the urgency of my words.

“I’m sorry mom.” I whisper, a few sniffles breaking through myself.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything…” She’s broken, has been for a while now. And I’m only making it worse.

“It’s not your fault, none of it is. I shouldn’t put it on you when he’s the one to blame.” She doesn’t deserve anymore heartache… but neither do I. 

But she’s suffered through more, so I’ll reign in my despair for her sake.

“Sweetie, just… wait it out a little longer.” She inhales harshly. “In June you’ll be eighteen and able to open your own bank account, one he can’t have any access to.”

“Okay.” I barely breathe out, my throat slightly raw from my cries.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. I love you Am.”

“Love you too.”

Once the call has ended, I throw my phone rougher than intended onto the towel next to the pool. I bring my knees up to my chest, leaning forward and pressing my cheek to my slick knees.

I don’t have any more tears to shed, instead I let my mind race with how to approach my knew predicament. How I’m going to tell Duke to take the car back. The car that he’s spent so long now working on. It’s been several weeks since I went to see it, and it was weeks before that he began the repairs. All that and he cut down the price so dramatically, probably out of pity. And yet it still isn’t enough, I can’t afford it. 

Will he be upset with me? Will he wonder how I can work the hours I do and have no money? Will he ask me what it is that I carelessly waste my money away on?

Will he look at me with disappointment?

That last one is what I truly don’t think I can take. My heart would surely crack even more if I received any sort of displeasure from him towards me.

It’s the last thing I could ever want, just the thought making my eyes burn once again with tears trying to fight their way out.

I could go to my dad and try to fight for my money back. Try to take it out of his greedy hands. But I refuse to subject myself to that sort of pain. The pain of pleading with my own father to put me before himself… just once.

It’s not worth it. Never will be. And I’m not so delusional that I don’t already know the money is long gone by now. Never takes him long to make it disappear. All my work, all for nothing.

The sound of a car jolts my thoughts, signaling that Dukes back already. I’ve wasted hours now sulking over my misfortune, without having come to any solution.

Thinking back to the state I’m in, I lift out of the pool with a splash, nearly slipping with the speed of my legs heading towards my towel. Aside from my phone, the towel is the only thing I brought out with me.

I’m wearing a one piece swimsuit, but that doesn’t make me anymore comfortable just walking into the house, into Duke, with my body on display. I wrap the towel around me, tying it at the waist, before using my still damp fingers to wipe aggressively at my surely streaky face, and attempting to tame the mess of my hair.

I don’t feel presentable, at least not the kind of presentable I want to be around Duke. I want to show him confidence, and maturity, which is ironic because I already know I typically fail at that most of the time.

Nevertheless, I’d rather attempt to appear like I’m in a stable state at the moment by walking inside and facing him, than for him to come out here and find the pathetic girl pouting by the pool in the beautiful sunset. Like some sort of sad photo shoot.

I manage to beat him inside, and even think I might be able to run up the stairs to get myself put together. But unfortunately the front door swings open, the frame of it then filled to the max with Dukes large body.

He’s fresh from a day at the job, grease on his skin, hair tousled, and dirty jeans. 

Mac says she finds it off-putting how gross the men get after work. I feel just the opposite.

Well, that is only for Duke though. I can’t help how that pleasurable thrill, the one I don’t fully understand, courses its way through my stomach when I see a just coming home from work Duke.

“Hi.” I sound ridiculous. My voice comes out squeaky, high pitched, shocked. My inability to act normal makes me want to find a shovel and start digging.

“Hey.” He doesn’t leave the doorway, just stands there like the giant he is, intimidating me with his unsure expression. “Brought the car back for you. It’s all yours.”

“Um, okay.” I mumble, watching him as casually as I can while he finally exits the doorway, and makes his way to the living room. 

I find myself lost in a daydream, imagining what it’d be like to join him as he sits down on the couch. More like collapses. There’s only so much grace such a large figure can have.

I’d sit next to him, maybe our sides would be pressed against each other, sealing us together. I’d be able to feel each breath leave his body, smell the natural musk he dispels. Perhaps he’d reach his arm around me, securing me in his embrace, casually, like he does it every day. 

I bet I’d feel warm, comfortable, at ease.

Dammit, somebody stop me, I’m full on obsessed.

Not even in an innocent way at this point, now it’s just unsettling how much I think about Duke Jenson.

I need this car so I can drive myself far away when I start to get these natural, yet so unnatural, stirrings in my body. Make some space between us rather than be trapped in this house breathing the same air as the man who will never be anything more than Mac’s dad.

But wait, I can’t have the car. I should have known that every time I’m about to get something, just when it’s on the tips of my fingers, so close to being grasped by my hands, it’s taken. 

“Well, actually, about the car.” I begin, walking a few feet to stand in front of the leather couch, still keeping much needed, but not wanted, distance between Duke and myself.

“Hm?” He looks at me. Impassive as ever.

Although I’m actually standing taller than him right now, not by much though, I still feel like he’s towering over me. That’s just his presence.

“Um,” I tangle my fingers together, my eyes staring at Duke’s shoes rather than his face. “I’m really sorry. But, I made a mistake, and I don’t have as much money as I thought I did to spend on the car. I really, actually, can’t buy it.”

My voice is so quiet I’m sure he’s straining his ears to hear me. He doesn’t say anything, and I’m too afraid to look at his face, dreading what his expression towards me might be.

After a few uncomfortable moments, I decide to continue, figuring his silence is his way of asking me to explain.

“I feel really bad that you put so much work into it and thought that I was going to buy it, but unfortunately I can’t… so you should probably just take it back to the garage.” I chance a look at the man sitting in front of me, and am surprised at what I see.

Not anger, not disappointment. Much to my relief. But instead he’s tight lipped and passive.

He’s configuring things in his head. Probably trying to decipher what my excuse for not having the money would be. He can try all he wants, he won’t figure out the hurtful truth that my own dad stole it all from me.

I refuse to even tell Mac. I’m too washed out with embarrassment of the man who ‘raised’ me to reveal any of the things he’s done.

“How much do you have?” Duke allows his brow to furrow for a moment, presumably having decided not to ask me where all my money seems to disappear to.

“Uh,” my cheeks warm, but not for the usual reason they do when I’m around Duke. The cause of my blush is pure embarrassment and maybe shame. “I have about 550.”

I don’t feel like facing his eyes, not wanting to chance seeing his thoughts. So I look around the room, my eyes darting around nervously while my one hand clutches the towel at my waist, and the fingers on my other hand pick at my chipped nails. 

When my gaze passes down briefly, I’m reminded of the swimsuit I’m still wearing. While still modest, I feel uncomfortable around Duke, not wanting him to see my body in something so tight.

Well, actually, it’s mainly I don’t want him to see the way my nipples have hardened due to the cold air on my wet suit.

Great, that’s just what I need right now.

Of course, I’m sure he’s not looking. I mean why would he be looking?

I steal a glance up, curious as to why he hasn’t said anything yet, and am immediately proven wrong. 

The way he flicked his eyes away quickly, yet coolly, almost made me miss the moment. But despite his casual pull away, he was looking, that’s for sure.

The tinge on my cheeks intensify, and the overwhelming urge to pull the towel up to cover myself nearly wins. But I fight it off and pretend nothing happened, not wanting to lift the towel to cover my indecency and let him know that I saw he snuck a glance.

Not that it means anything. I mean they’re right there, practically eye level with the man. Any man or woman would have noticed. 

“That’s fine.”

I feel instant relief when his voice slices through the unwanted silence of the room. I couldn’t take a single other second of contemplation of where his eyes just were.

But then confusion sets in. “What?”

“What you have will be fine.” He crosses his tanned, rough arms over his chest, stretching his shirt over his biceps in the process.

Not focusing on that movement, I make eye contact with him, surprised to still see passiveness.

I know I’m not his daughter, I’m her friend. A teenage girl who he’s in charge of looking out for. Surely that’s enough to keep him from being angry with me. But still, if I were anyone else he would have ripped me a new one for wasting so much of his time. And yet, after I’ve spent the last several weeks telling him I had the money, only to take it back the day he brings the car, he just sits there like it’s no harm at all.

“No way,” I shake my head. “The thousand was already too generous, I can’t just give you half of that.”

“You can,” he exhales, long and rough, the stress of his work day trying to leave his body through his breath. At least that’s what he’s attempting, I’m sure I only add to his stress. “And you will, kid.”

His demanding tone doesn’t escape my notice, and neither does the word, ‘kid.’

I find that word condescending, although he didn’t speak it that way. Or maybe it’s just the fact that he said it that upsets me.

My brows grow closer together while I contemplate why I wish he wouldn’t think of me as a kid.

But then his form is leaving the couch, like a giant rising high up above me, looking down on my miniature self. 

He truly is like a beast sometimes. With the rough skin and hair, especially when he doesn’t shave for several days or more.

And I’m the exact opposite, so what does that make me?

Seeing that he’s about to make his exit from the living, clearly walking away from the conversation to keep me from arguing, although he only just sat down, I look up at him, trying to hold my chin high.

Before he can step away from where he stands firmly two feet in front of me, I counter, “Let me do something to pay you back.”

Something strange flicks in his eyes. Like he’s had an idea.

But his expression goes away as quickly as it came, and he doesn’t share any sort of thoughts with me. Instead he shoots back, “You will, when you get the money, you’ll pay me back. I’m not worried about it.”

His eyes remain on me for a few more seconds, before he seems to remember he was just leaving. 

He steps passed me, having to brush rather close to me to get out from between the couch and coffee table, and he does so carefully. Like he wanted to make sure he didn’t accidentally make contact with my skin.

And I appreciate that, seeing as I already feel far too exposed at the moment.

I catch a hint of his smell when he goes by. Like earth and spice and hard work.

I avoid analyzing my curiosity with the way this grown freaking man smells by turning to face his back and continuing my attempt to make a deal. “And I’ll have that money soon, I promise. But still, it’s such a small amount and I know you did a lot of work on that car. So please, let me help you with something. Give me some chores, or if you need some help at the garage.”

He stalls, and turns back around to face me, annoyance in his eyes.

“Like something, I don’t know, non-car related at the garage.” I shrug my shoulder, but my fingers instantly latch onto each other. My nerves slightly shot at his annoyance towards me.

He doesn’t want me to argue, or try to convince him other wise of his charity. But I don’t want charity. Especially not from him.

His head shakes ever so slightly, and I’m almost afraid he might tell me to screw off and leave him be. But instead he crosses his arms over his chest again, something I notice he does a lot. Something I find, endearing, but also a little scary.

“Alright.” Is all he says. Basically grunts.

“Really?” I tilt my head at the suddenness of his surrender. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods once.

“Okay!” I say excitedly, and still a little shocked. “So, what do you need help with?”

His chest rises before falling slowly. “The basement. When you’ve got time, you can give me a hand.”

The basement?

“Oh, oh yeah. It’s all unfinished, right?” I ask, still twiddling my fingers away.

“Yeah. Hoping to get it done as soon as possible.” he explains.

Helping him finish his basement, that I can do. I’d say it’s a small price to pay for a car of my own.

“Okay yeah!” I roll onto my tip toes enthusiastically. This solution will help me not feel so guilty about him giving me a car for such a low price. “I would love to help.”

“Okay then.” He takes a step back to once again leave.

My feet react before rational thought does, and before I know it I’ve crossed the several feet that separated us and made my way awkwardly towards him.

I keep one hand on the towel while my other goes around his waist. “Thank you so much.”

My hug catches us both off guard. My eyes remain open and wide in confusion as I make the most physical contact I ever have with him.

Meanwhile his arms uncrossed out of instinct at the small body suddenly embracing him. He’s not touching me, so I can tell he must be holding his arms in the air like he has no clue what to do with them.

Why did I just hug him?

I berate myself for my stupidity, about to pull away despite how I oddly enjoy the heat coming from his body as my blushing cheek rests against his large chest.

But before I retreat, I feel a hesitant arm, just one, go around my shoulders.

It’s firm and rests on me with a lot of pressure. His fingers wrap around my upper arm and squeeze.

But then it’s over. Only having lasted a second. But I have a feeling the goose bumps it inflicted won’t go away anytime soon.

We pull away, and I know somethings off. I can feel it in the air around us. This was not an inappropriate situation to hug him, even with the fact that I’m still in my swimsuit. He showed me a lot of kindness, and a hug was a way of saying thank you.

Maybe it’s my ever growing crush on him that makes it feel strange, like I just did something wrong. But I swear his body language is suggesting his thoughts are mirroring my own.

“Sorry.” I whisper, looking at my feet in complete embarrassment. Maybe apologizing makes it weirder, but I couldn’t help myself.

I don’t know what I want him to say, but it doesn’t matter, he walks away without another word.

Once I hear him climb the stairs, pounding on each step louder than usual, I allow my head to rise, all the way until I’m staring at the ceiling. 

‘Oh my god, Amity. You’re such an idiot.’

 

 

 

 

I’m not an irrational man. Never have been. I don’t say or do shit without thinking about it first.

So why the fuck did I say she could help me with the basement?

I knew she’d be good for the money. And she was. Didn’t take barely more than a month and she was presenting me with the remainder of the cash she owed.

Part of me didn’t want to accept it. Which is shit because of course she has to pay for the car. But still, my first instinct when her unsure fingers handed me the cash, was to push it back at her.

Deep inside I wanted to give her the car. As a present I guess. What for? No clue.

That day in the living room when she approached me, her eyes red and cheeks blotchy, I could tell she had been crying. She hid it well, but that didn’t prevent me from noticing.

She looked the same way she did when she was on the curb of her house crying because her shit dad didn’t remember he birthday.

She was upset, and she didn’t have the money, although she had assured she did. 

Where all her money goes, I have no idea. But I wasn’t going to ask, despite my aching curiosity. She’s so damn guarded I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d tell me any sort of secret.

The reasonable thing to think would be that she wastes her money away on whatever teenage girls do, but the thought never crossed my mind. I don’t believe she’d be that way, and it aggravates me not knowing where her income goes.

I didn’t want anything more than the thousand I asked for, but she seemed desperate to pay me back with more.

I should have just left the fucking room right then and there, but she asked me right after my eyes played a nasty trick on me and landed on her tits.

At first I was too busy observing he tear stung eyes to really notice she was wearing a swimsuit. A modest little piece, but still tight. And it did not one damn thing to conceal those little buds hardening from her breasts.

Never thought of myself as a weak man, but that day I was. I fought not to look, but clearly not hard enough. Because I did. I fucking looked and I looked longer than a gown man should. And I felt sick about it. Sick that I liked what I fucking saw, for the few seconds that my mind forgot who I was and just indulged in the sight of what was right in front of my face.

From that moment on my head was jumbled with thoughts it shouldn’t have and I needed to get out. But she wanted to push the subject and eventually I agreed just to get away. Or because I really am just weak.

I agreed and the first thing that came to mind was the basement, seeing that she doesn’t know shit about cars.

Then she hugged me and I swear I felt her nipples poking hard through my shirt. She caught me off guard, and that’s something no one can do.

But she did, and I got out of there without saying one more word to the small girl looking at her toes with embarrassment radiating off of her still damp body.

I tried to tell myself it wasn’t a mistake letting her help me with the basement, that maybe it will actually benefit me to have a hand.

But I knew it was a shit idea the moment it left my mouth.

She’s always so eager to help with whatever task I give her. Never complaining. Unlike the other two I’ve enlisted to help on occasion. 

Benny comes over when I need some help with the heavy lifting, his fake leg giving him no trouble, unlike it used to. And Mac has helped some. But she’s usually too busy working that damn job of hers.

Those two like to bitch about things, but not Little Rose. She just smiles like she’s having the time of her life. 

And it pisses me off.

It pisses me off, because when she smiles, I look. My eyes are traitors when it comes to her. And I can say with full honesty, I don’t know why.

I shouldn’t be looking. Not at her. 

I choose to keep to myself when she comes down to work. I give her instructions and she does as she asks. She’s shy enough to not start too many conversation with me, and I’m glad for that. She listens to her music and asks questions when she needs to. 

Which is quite often, actually, seeing as she has no clue what she’s doing when it comes to house renovation.

It’s December now, and while she’s been a decent help, at least now that she’s got the hang of things and I’m not having to fix everything she does, I’m trying to find a reason to have her get lost.

Because I’m losing my fucking mind in this basement with her. And today… today was the last straw.

It’s not her fault. I tell myself over and over again it’s not her fault, at least not to her knowledge. But I’ve noticed her more now that she helps me out. Notice the way she moves, the way she concentrates on every little thing she works on.

Her lips pucker and her eyes squint when she’s trying to figure something out, trying to solve her own problems before having to give in and go to her last resort. Me.

I notice the way she hums to herself when she’s got her headphones in. She’s in a different world when she’s deep into her music.

And today, well today I noticed how fucking tight her leggings were.

So damn tight that when she bent over at the waist, leaning over to reach down and grab the paint roller from its spot on the ground, my eyes tricked me yet again.

She doesn’t even have much of an ass. Not saying there’s nothing there, but I’ve had my fair share of woman with nice asses. Hell, although she’s a cold heated bitch, Mac’s mother had a great ass. Tisha does as well.

So why did my eyes not want to look away from the teenage girl who unknowingly had her backside pointed right at me?

And the better question is, why did my dick twitch at the sight?

That’s what did it for me. My hardening cock is what finally woke me up from the sick trance I was under. 

“Amity!” I snapped at her. My voice was loud and sharp, and I didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but I couldn’t have her around with the thoughts I just had.

She flinched, dropping the roller into the paint, splashing some out around the floor.

She turned to look at me, wide eyed, innocent, and confused.

“Yeah?” She breathed out, obviously startled by my tone.

“I don’t need your help anymore today. You can go.” I look away from her, going back to my work with a hammer and a nail. But I don’t have to see her to know that my harsh tone, my unwarranted outburst, has hurt her.

“Oh… um, okay.” He voice is small and unsure. But she doesn’t argue. And thank fuck for that. She leaves quickly, surely assuming that I’m angry with her for a reason she is unaware of.

But it’s not her I’m angry at. It’s myself. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but it’s for the best that she wasn’t down here with some perverted old guy who couldn’t keep his thoughts appropriate.

I don’t know when this started happening, let alone why. Maybe it’s a normal reaction any man would have to a young girl living in his home. Or maybe I’m just fucked.

Either way I needed to get the image of her out of my head.

That’s how I ended up at Tisha’s this afternoon. I came hoping to get a blow job out of her. She wanted to fuck.

Fine with me.

What wasn’t fine with me was the image of Amity sneaking into my head while I was fucking Tisha.

I’ve never had to fight off an unwanted image while I was inside of a woman. But it took a will power I didn’t realize I would need to keep my thoughts on the curvy woman positioned on her hands and knees before me, rather than on the fucking girl who had no right to be in my head. I fought off picturing her ass bent over, I fought off imagining her voice instead of the moans coming from Tisha.

By the time I found my release I hardly got enough satisfaction from it, my mind too drained from the battle it was having with itself.

“What are you thinking about?” Tisha asks as we sit up in her bed naked afterwards. She reaches her overly priced manicured fingers towards the cigarette in my mouth, plucking it away and taking a drag from it.

Tisha is beautiful. She’s tall, with big tits and an hourglass waist leading to her perfect hips. Full figured and all woman. Just the opposite of Am….

Goddammit. Fuck off with those thoughts you sick pervert.

“Gotta go meet Mac at the mall.” I say, because it’s true, although it’s not what I was thinking about.

“What for?” She blows a puff of smoke into the air, her lipstick smeared around her mouth and her makeup slightly messed.

“The girls got a winter dance coming up, told Mac I’d pay for her dress.” I explain, leaning back more into the pillows, not wanting to get up and make my way to the mall where I know Amity will be.

“Huh.” Tisha turns on her side, eyeing me before asking, “Kind of feels like you have two daughters now, doesn’t it?”

My jaw tightens at her words, not liking them one fucking bit.

“Just the one daughter and a girl who needed a place to stay.” I clarify.

“Okay then.” She giggles. “She giving you any trouble?”

Yeah she’s giving me some trouble. She just doesn’t know it.

“No, hardly notice she’s there.” That’s a lie.

Tisha nods, before hopping out of bed. “I’ll come with you.”

“Come with me?” I ask, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, figuring I ought to get out of here.

“Yeah, I’ll come to the mall with you. It could be nice. Maybe I could see what dresses the girls have picked out.” She says like she’s decided she’s coming no matter what I think.

My first thought is to argue, but I think on it for a moment. Maybe it would be best if she came with me. Distracting me, more like reminding me, that she’s a woman, and Amity is just a girl.

“Alright.” I agree, pulling on my jeans.

“Great.” She smiles enthusiastically.

 

Half an hour later we’re making our way through the mall, entering the dress shop Mac had texted she was at.

It doesn’t escape my attention the way the ladies in this small store eye me. 

My body fills the door, and I’m fully aware that my face aint exactly friendly. They’re surely wondering what the hell I’m doing in the frilly place.

“Dad!” I hear my daughter shout louder than appropriate in a store this size. Turning towards the high pitched call, I spot her, dressed in a bright… really fucking bright… orange dress.

She looks so damn grown up, I swear I’ve been punched in the gut looking at this girl who used to be smaller than my forearm. 

She wears a smile so big her jaw must ache. However, as Tisha and I make our way through the aisles of dresses towards her, that smile fades.

She’s spotted that I didn’t come alone. And while it’s not unknown to me how Mac feels about Tisha, I wish she’d do a better job at hiding her displeasure.

“What do you think?” she at least only allows her frown to paint her face for a second, before returning her attention to me, spinning around like some sort of princess in her dress.

“Looks good.” I say. Honestly it looks bright, shiny, and the sequins might blind you if you look for too long. Perfect for my daughter.

I motion with my head towards Tisha, just a small movement to encourage Mac to use her manners.

I flex my jaw at the annoyance in her eye, and counter it with warning in my own.

She caves and looks around me towards Tisha, who has remained patiently waiting behind my back. “Hi Tisha.”

She speaks without any emotion, and I have half a mind to give her a reminder of the manners I know I’ve fucking taught her. But I decide against it, not feeling in the right environment or mood to scold her yet again for her unusual distaste toward Tisha.

“Hey Mackenzie!” Tisha chirps, using over enthusiasm to try to buy Mac’s approval. “That dress is… very eccentric.”

That’s the best she could come up with.

“Thanks.” Mac’s grin is lack luster. “I think I’ve settled on this one. But will this be okay dad?”

She turns, putting her back towards me and presenting the price tag. Three hundred dollars, for a fucking dress. 

“That’s fine, kid.” I accept, wanting to pay for this dress for her. It’s her first time going to a dance with a boy. She’s never been asked by anyone before.

That both pisses me off and fills me with relief. Relief that I haven’t had to worry the last few years about some punk kid thinking they could pull something on her. But despite that, I know it has hurt Mac not being asked to a dance by anyone, even though she hides that fact well.

According to Mac, it’s Amity’s first time being asked to a dance as well. Which surprised the shit out of me.

“Where’s Amity?” The thought reminds me that Amity isn’t around.

“She’s in the dressing rooms.” Mac points to the side of us at the doors lined up. “I had to convince her to try this one dress on. I know it’s her favorite but she said it was too expensive so she wasn’t going to even try. But she kept looking at it so I forced her.”

I nod, taking a seat on a cushioned bench as my daughter goes back to admiring herself proudly in the wall to ceiling mirrors.

Tisha remains standing, eyeing my girl up and down with a neutral expression on her face.

A door to my right swings open softly, drawing my eyes to where a small girl tentatively exits the dressing room. 

Amity.

A blush warms her pale cheeks as she makes her way to stand next to Mac, not making eye contact with Trisha as she passes, and only sparing the smallest glance and courteous smile towards me.

I don’t return the gesture though, too busy noticing the fact that my daughter isn’t the only one who looks like a damn grown up right now.

“Oh my god! Amity!” Mac squeals as she latches onto the uncomfortable girls shoulder and pulls her to stand in front of the mirrors. “Are you kidding me!? You look a-maze-ing.”

Amity’s blush grows and she stands nervously in front of her audience that she didn’t realize she would be having.

“Thanks.” She smiles sweetly. So damn sweet.

“That dress is beautiful.” Tisha says from the background. “I’m Tisha, by the way.”

“Thank you. I’m Amity.” She responds, but she doesn’t look towards Tisha for too long, something unsure flicking in her eyes.

“You have to get this one Amity, it’s… I mean it’s so perfect on you!” Mac continues to gush over the dress while Amity eyes herself in the mirror, a sort of peaceful grin present on her face.

She likes the dress. She likes the way she looks in the dress. It’s obvious she wants it. But it’s also clear she doesn’t think she can have it.

“Thanks, but I’ll probably get the blue one I tried on before.” Amity shrugs, disappointment apparent to me although she does well hiding it.

“But you didn’t love the blue one. You love this one.” Mac argues. “You guys agree right? This one is beautiful.” Mac turns towards myself and Tisha for our input.

“I have to agree. It really is very nice.” Tisha smiles, even though there’s something forced about her reaction.

“Dad?” Mac addresses me, wanting me to reassure this is the right dress.

I don’t give a shit about the dress. It’s black, with lace across her chest and luckily no sequins like Mac’s. The waist is tightly fit around her and hugs down to her hips before it loosens up and flows softly down her legs.

Couldn’t care less about the fabric she’s wearing. It’s the way it fits her body that’s grabbing my inappropriate attention. The way it molds to her body, accentuating her figure, makes the dad in me want to tell her to change out of the fucking thing. But the man in me, the primal thoughts that come to mind, makes me look longer than I should.

Not that anyone notices. Mac’s eyes are glued to the dress like she herself can’t look away, and Tisha does the same, although her eyes aren’t so much in awe as they are deep in thought over something I’m not sure of.

Except when I force my eyes away from the dress, I find that someone does notice my wondering stare.

Amity’s looking right at me, curiosity and hesitation in her features. She was observing my face just the same as I was observing her dress. At least, I fucking hope all she thinks it that I was just looking at the damn dress.

She looks at me like she knows I was staring too intensely at her. But instead of shying away from the gaze of her friend’s dad, she holds it. She’s waiting for my response. She wants to know what I’ll say. She waits nervously for my opinion, like it would mean something to her if I said I like the dress.

What would she do if I told her she looked beautiful? If I told her the dress was made for her and her body and her flawless, porcelain skin?

Her blush would creep down her neck, her fingers would wiggle to be picked at. She’d look at the ground and grin like she always does when given a complement. 

I want to see her do it now. I want my words to be the reason she flushes and smiles happily at being called beautiful.

But not a fucking chance. I won’t say those things.

“Dad?” Our trance is broken when Mac calls to me again. I’m suddenly aware that once again I’ve gotten myself locked in the eyes of her best friend. It’s happened before and it bugs the shit out of me that it’s happened again. “Sooo, what do you think?”

I clear my throat, and Amity looks back into the mirror at herself, clearly feeling uncomfortable by my viewing of her.

“It’s nice. You should get it.” That’s all I say.

The same expression of want comes into her eyes once again. 

“Hm… I’m not sure.” She tilts her head, pouts her lip. She’s thinking, looking for a way she can get the dress she wants so badly.

“Well, if not now I guess you could get it for prom.” Mac shrugs, walking off to the dressing rooms.

“Yeah.” Amity whispers, eyeing her figure one more time before retreating to her dressing room as well.

I listen to Tisha ramble about her restaurant she owns. Something about the new chef smoking weed while cooking. I don’t pay much attention though, my thoughts thinking about how damn happy Amity looked wearing that dress. How I can’t help but want to buy it for her, just so I can get that smile out of her again.

Fuck. It’s probably best to just leave it.

“Okay, so this dress it is.” Mac bounces out of her stall, dressed in her regular clothes and holding the orange dress in her hands.

Amity follows afterwards, holding onto the black dress as well as a blue one. 

“So, tell me, who are you girls going to this dance with?” Tisha chimes.

“Ryland and Jake. They’re friends and they actually asked us together at the same time.” Mac answers, smiling. “Ryland is really cute.”

He won’t be so cute if he gets any ideas with my daughter.

“Oh so you like him then?” Trisha sings, trying to fit in with these high school girls.

Mac shrugs.

“She’s only been pining over him for months now.” Amity teases, hitting her shoulder against her friend.

I had no idea Mac had a crush.

Mac follows the teasing with a blush. Something she never does, and something that pisses me off. I’d rather her wait another decade until she starts dating. Irrational or not, I don’t really give a shit.

“Haven’t heard you talk about a Ryland before.” I state, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees, locking my fingers together.

“He’s just a kid we’ve known for a little bit. He’s in my calc class.” Mac explains like he’s no big deal. But her gushing tells me she thinks otherwise.

“He’ll be coming around to pick you up from the house?” I ask. Although I mean it as a demand.

“Yes dad.” Mac draws out. “But I swear, you can’t go scaring him away. You can’t intimidate him, and you can’t threaten him. And so help me if you have even one lame dad talk with him about what his intentions are I won’t speak to you for a week.”

Mac’s dead serious, but I smirk at her threat anyways. If I want to tell the boy to keep his goddamn hands off my girl, I sure as fuck will.

“We’ll see.” I respond.

A soft giggle comes from Amity, her eyes shine with amusement. “Your dad might intimidate him, but I think it’s gonna be you scaring him off by the end of the night.”

Mac scoffs dramatically. “How dare you! I’m a catch.”

Amity continues to chuckle. The sound welcomed in my ears.

“What about Jake?” I interrupt, my voice directed toward Amity and more clipped than I intend it to be.

“Huh?” She stalls, giving me a questioning look.

“Ah yeah. Have you had a crush as well?” Tisha adds.

Both the girls give her a look like they’re not quite sure why she’s even here. Amity’s is a lot less obvious than Mac’s though.

“Um, no, not really.” Amity responds, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I think he only asked me because Ryland asked Mac.”

I don’t believe that for a damn second. She may be quiet and introverted, but there’s not a chance she hasn’t received attention from all those damn boys at school.

I don’t get why she hasn’t been asked to a dance before. And I don’t get why the thought of those punk kids looking at her makes my chest tighten.

Before anyone can say anything else, a sales lady approaches our group. “Looks like you guys are all done. So what have we decided on?” She smiles widely.

“Well I want this one.” Mac presents her orange dress proudly.

“I’m gonna get this one.” Amity motions towards the blue dress in her hand, Mac frowning at her as she does.

“Perfect! I’ll get those ringed up. Are we paying separately or together?” She questions the girls, then looks towards me, probably wondering if I’m both of theirs father.

Amity is about to say something, but I don’t give her the chance. Standing from my spot, I answer. “Together. And she’ll take the black one instead of the blue.” I gesture towards Amity.

“Oh no. I’m getting my own.” Amity quickly interjects.

I’m following the sales lady up to the front of the store as the rest follow. “Not arguing on this one Little Rose, I’ve got it.” I write her off.

“Please, that’s too much, really I’ve got-“ Amity reasons as we’ve reached the cash register, but I interrupt her.

“Not arguing, Amity.” I grab the dress from her hand and force it into the ladies. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I-“ It’s Mac who interrupts her this time.

“You better just let him Amity. He’s too stubborn to back down.” She smiles at me, clearly thrilled I’m purchasing her friends dress. “You’re the best dad.”

“Lucky girl.” I almost forgot Tisha was around until her comment catches my attention. I can tell she smiled while speaking without having to look, but the condescending tone doesn’t escape my notice.

Doesn’t escape Mac’s either seeing the eye roll she displays beside me.

“Thank you sir.” I’m handed a receipt, and before stuffing it in my pocket I notice the dress I just bought that girl was over four hundred dollars. Damn, no wonder she wasn’t gonna get it.

I’m automatically aware that buying her this dress might bite me in the ass. After all, I know the sick way I looked at her while she wore it. How the hell is some horny teenage boy going to react?

The thought is almost enough to turn me back around and return the dress, maybe buy her something with sleeves and no shape to it instead. But then I remember that fucking smile she wore in the mirror. So pure and peaceful, like that one smile showed everything she was feeling in that moment.

“Thank you.” Amity says shyly, obviously not comfortable accepting what she’d see as charity from me.

“Your welcome.” I hand her the bag with her dress, and despite her reluctance, she accepts with appreciation and happiness.

The girls go their separate way, leaving Tisha and I to exit the mall on our own.

“That was nice of you.” Tisha states from beside me.

“Not a big deal.” It really isn’t.

“You know, she’s not your daughter.”

Yeah no shit.

I give her a look to let her know I’m not interested in what shit she’s about to go off about.

“Look, I’m just saying, that was a lot of money to spend on her. Her own dad should be doing that, it’s not your responsibility.”

I hone in my distaste for Tisha’s opinion. “Doesn’t look like she’s got a dad who will do this for her, or a mom in that case. I don’t see the harm in helping her out.”

These are true things. And I’m not about to admit I bought the dress because I got some sick satisfaction from seeing that girl smile.

“I guess so.” Tisha concedes, although she doesn’t mean it.

We continue walking through the crowds of obnoxious families and teenagers shopping around the mall. The loud noises coming from all direction make me clench my fists, my heart rate higher than usual and my awareness towards my surroundings at their peak.

It’s fucking suffocating to be in crowds these days. Not necessarily because of the people, but the sounds. They’re all over, trapping me in the middle, one loud noise after the other.

Puts me on edge.

I can breathe again once we reach the car, but before we get in, Tisha turns to me. “So… Little Rose… huh?”

I take a deep breath. 

I don’t have the fucking patience for this right now.

 

 

 

 

 

“So, are you having a good time?”

That’s the million dollar question right there.

Truth is no, I’m not having a good time. I might be the only girl here not having a good time.

The music is loud and piercing in my ears, and I’m surrounded by people everywhere I turn. I hate crowds, always have. They fill me with anxiety and heighten my senses to the point of discomfort.

The beat of the music rocks my bones with every song, and I honestly just want to go home, where it’s quiet and comfortable.

But Jake has been nothing but nice to me, the perfect gentleman since him and Ryland came to pick Mac and I up.

I don’t know Jake very well, I meant it when I said he surely just asked me because Ryland asked Mac. I’m also not sure if he’s always this courteous, or if the stare of death Duke gave both him and Ryland at the door was enough to set him straight.

Mac was mortified at the words Duke spoke to the boys. I on the other hand found it amusing. Watching the two of them straighten out their backs and go wide eyed when Duke answered the door made my whole night.

Even though I felt an odd sensation wash through me watching Duke be the man of the house and make sure those boys behaved themselves. It confused me why I got such a tingle in my belly at the sight, and I felt frustrated the whole way to the dance at how wrong it was for me to have those feelings.

I can’t even just say I have a crush on him anymore. I’m hopelessly attracted to him in the worst kind of way.

And it’s getting to be a real problem.

Like how I over analyze every look he gives me. Thinking, more like just pathetically hoping, that maybe it seemed like he was looking at me for longer than appropriate, because that’s really what he was doing. Not just it appeared that way for me.

That day I tried on this dress, this dress that I love more than anything I’ve ever owned, I swear he was looking at me. Not just looking at me, but looking at the way I looked in that dress.

His eyes seemed different. And I don’t know if that was real or if it’s just my imagination and desperation hoping that it was. That he might find me… maybe… pretty.

But he couldn’t. No way. I’m such an idiot for even dreaming. I’m nothing compared to the woman he brought with him that day. She was beautiful. She was a grown woman.

I’m just a girl.

Ugh, and now here I am, at my first actual dance, and I’m thinking about Duke, yet again.

I need to focus on my actual date.

We’re standing by the punch bowl, where I’ve been keeping my eye on Mac and Ryland dancing like lunatics in the middle of the room. She might have found her match with that one. He’s just as bubbly as she is.

I turn towards Jake, taking in his boyish features. “Yeah, this has been fun.” I lie. “I guess I’m just not really one for big crowds.”

Jake grins, a dimple appearing to the right of his lips. His skins is as porcelain as mine, and his hair even blonder and more fine than my own. He’s not too much taller than I am, and hasn’t really hit too much of a growth spurt yet. Or he has and he doesn’t have much hope of getting any bigger.

“We can go somewhere else if you want, somewhere quieter.” Jake suggests.

“Umm,” I’m not sure what to say, I don’t really want to leave alone with him, no matter how nice he’s been to me.

Jake senses my unsureness, and quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I don’t mean leave the school, but we can go walk the halls or something, take a little break.”

“Oh, well aren’t we not allowed to walk around the school?” I ask.

“I know a secret way.” He grins confidently. “Come on, let me show you something.”

I want to say no, but before I can he’s grabbed ahold of my hand and is leading me out of the gym. I turn to find Mac, but she’s too distracted to notice my exit.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask wearily as we make our way towards the west side of the school, the hallways empty in an eerie way.

“Yeah, no worries, this is better out here than that lame dance anyways.”

My feet are beginning to really ache from the too high of heels Mac convinced me to wear. I’ll have to remember to say thanks a lot for that.

“Hold on, I think I’ll take off my shoes.” I say before stopping quickly, removing my shoes before continuing to walk along with Jake. “We’ll probably just get sent back to the dance if the teachers find us.” I state.

“That’s why I’m taking us over here.” Jake opens a door and leads us through, my mind sort of telling me not to go with him, but also arguing with itself to not be such a buzz kill. “Here, I’ll hold your shoes for you.”

He grabs the shoes out of my hand before I can argue.

“Thank you.” I look around at the dark area we’ve entered. “Isn’t this place not even finished?” I ask, noticing that we’re in the new expansion of the school.

It’s mostly just frame work and unfinished miss matched pieces all around. It smells like paint and wood. 

Similar to how Duke’s basement currently is.

We’re for sure not supposed to be in here.

“Come on.” Jake enthusiastically grabs my hand with his free one, while I fight back my urge to say let’s turn around, and follow him instead.

After having walked through some of the new part of the building, talking about random stuff like college and our plans after graduation, we find ourselves sat on a stack of wood planks.

“This is better, huh?” Jake asks, nudging my shoulder playfully.

“Yeah, I hope Mac isn’t wondering where I am.” I did just leave her.

“Nah, I’m sure Ryland is keeping her entertained. He’s been trying to ask her out for the longest time. Was starting to get annoying if I’m being honest.” Jake chuckles, his thigh scooter the slightest bit closer to mine while we sit.

“Well he should have asked her sooner. She would have said yes.” I assure, a shiver running down my arms from the unfinished building.

“Heh, yeah that’s what I’ve been telling him, but he says she just too intimidating.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, she can be a lot at times.” I chuckle along with him, another wave of goosebumps peppering my skin.

“Ah, you’re getting cold, huh?” He slips his arm around me, wrapping around my shoulders and running his clammy fingers up and down my arm.

Wow, he’s real smooth. I almost laugh at how lame the move is.

Although I still feel a blush form on my face. Not because I like that’s he’s touching me, but more because… I don’t I guess. I feel uncomfortable and extremely not used to having a guy touch me in any sort of way.

“I’m glad you said yes when I asked you to come with me tonight.” He whispers, his face a little too close to mine.

“I’m glad you asked me.” That seems like the right thing to say, although I can’t help but start tapping my fingers along my lap in nervousness.

“You’re very pretty.” He adds, inching closer to me, his grip around my shoulders growing.

“Um, thank you.” I whisper, fully aware that he now has his surprisingly dainty fingers on my thigh now.

They’re not like Dukes fingers. Big and tan and rough and callused.

Crap, why am I thinking about him right now? I should be thinking about stopping the boy whose hands are getting a little too explorative.

“Look at me.” Jake insists calmly.

I look at him, my heart rate picking up.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, eyeballing my lips while licking his own.

Part of me feels like I should say yes, just because I feel like its well time to get my first kiss over with. But the stronger part of me knows he’s not the one I would want to share that with.

“Um, I don’t know.” I start to squirm a little.

“Come on, I won’t bite.” He teases, his one hand now travelling up where he grasps my breast. “This dress is fucking beautiful on you.”

At the first squeeze of his hand on me I shoot up. But he holds me down before I can stand.

“Hey now, you don’t need to be scared. I can make you feel good. Promise.” He has a tight hold around my back, and an even tighter one around my breast. Almost to the point of pain.

“No Jake. I don’t want to do that. Let me go.” I plead. Knowing for sure now that I shouldn’t have followed him in here.

“Don’t be a tease, Amity.” His face goes into my neck, where he kisses above my shoulder. “You know how you look wearing a dress like that. Why don’t you let me have a peak at what’s underneath?”

He starts pushing us down, attempting to get me onto my back with him on top. But that’s what does it for me. I shove him as hard as I can, managing to push him to the ground.

“No! I told you I don’t want to. I’m leaving.” I stand faster than I knew I could, snatching my shoes and backing away from him.

“Are you kidding me? What did you think we were going to do back here?” He’s aggravated now, and not the same kid who stood at Duke’s door like a little puppy.

I turn away from him and start walking away as fast as I can, not responding to his shouts.

“I shouldn’t have listened to Ryland!” He calls behind me. I keep going. “He knew the only way Mac would come to the dance with him was if you had a date as well. I shouldn’t have let him force me to take you!”

I don’t let the sudden tears that blur my vision stop me from making my exit. Soon enough I’m out of sight of him and he’s no longer calling out behind me.

“Ah!”

I fall to my hands on the floor, scraping my knees in the process, a sharp pain resonating through my bare foot.

I look back, a nail just barely sticking out of the floor now covered in blood.

A few more tears escape as I shove my shoes back on, covering my now messy foot.

I limp my way back to the gym, wiping at my eyes and trying to spot Mac.

She’s still dancing, and after a few minutes, she spots me and I wave her over.

She runs over, leaving Ryland on the dance floor. “Hey! This is awesome! Where’s Jake?”

I don’t answer her question. “I think I’m gonna go.” I shout over the music.

“What!? Why, what’s wrong?” Mac shows concern.

“Jake just…. He isn’t all that great and I’m sort of uncomfortable now so I’m just gonna head back to the house.” I explan, putting my weight onto my unhurt foot.

“What’s wrong with Jake?” Realization spreads across her face. “Did he do something to you?”

I shrug.

“Did he touch you!? Did he try to make you do something!?” Mac shouts before I try to shush her so no one hears.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just gonna go, I wasn’t having the best time anyways.” I say calmly.

“Oh I swear, he better consider his nuts punched because when I see him I’m not holding back!” She gets a fierce look in her eye.

Honestly there is no friend more loyal than Mac.

“Take it easy there. He’s not worth it.”

“Ugh! I’m just so mad. You’re supposed to have a good time. I don’t want you to leave.” She sighs.

“It’s fine, really.” I try to assure. “You have a good time. Ryland seems to really like you.”

“I’ll come with you. Sisters before misters, girl.” She latches her arm around mine, but I quickly shove her away.

“No way! You’re having a good time, stay a while longer. I’ll be good to get back on my own. One of us might as well see this thing through.”

“Are you sure? I don’t feel right leaving you.” Mac’s brows furrow.

“I’m positive. Now go back to dancing. It would be a shame if you rid this party of your moves this early.”

“That is very true Ms. Sunshine.” She looks back at her date, then towards me, debating her options. “You’re really sure?”

“Yes! Go, please.”

“I love you!” She hugs me then turns back towards the dance floor. But quickly whips around to say one more thing. “But I swear, that boy is not safe. He better start watching his back, because his ass will officially be kicked when I see him next.” 

I laugh.

“Better yet, I don’t even need to pull out my fighter moves. I’ll just let him know that I’m gonna tell my dad about the stunt he pulled on you tonight. That should take care of him.”

Then she’s gone.

Yeah, I can’t even imagine the hell that would rain if Duke got his hands on Jake.

 

 

I uber back to Duke’s house. I know it’s not smart. But I don’t have another choice.

I mean I do. But that would mean calling Duke and having him pick me up. No thank you.

The whole drive I keep my tears locked away, telling myself it’s my own fault for following him into that place. Of course that’s what he would have expected.

Although I can’t say the last thing he told me didn’t sting my feelings. I don’t talk to other people much, I’d much rather keep to myself. So in turn, people don’t talk to me much. It’s a boundary I’ve created for myself to stay comfortable. And it’s the reason no one has ever asked me to a dance. Not that I mind. Clearly dances are not my sort of thing.

Maybe boys just aren’t my thing. Too immature and single minded. They’re not men. They’re not like….

Duke…

They’re not like Duke.

Such a messed up comparison for me to make. The boys my age compared to my best friends dad. It’s so wrong and quite honestly pathetic, I have to shove the thought deep away just to remain sane.

I thank my driver once we reach the house, and hop out onto my one foot that isn’t currently throbbing.

I’m going to run a much needed bath and assess the damage while praying that I don’t need stitches.

I limp my way into the house, cursing under my breath when I see the downstairs lights on.

Duke’s awake.

Of course he is. It’s not late. And he’s got two teenagers to wait up for.

I’ll just go in, say hi, and hope I can contain the limp in my step until I reach the upstairs.

I push the front door open, it suddenly sounding louder than any time before.

I gently close it, taking a deep breath as I hear the sound of the TV on.

I accept that I have no choice but to speak with him, and start taking steps.

The glow of the TV grows as I approach.

I round the corner and find Duke already looking at me. Sitting too large on the couch, one arm draped over the side with a beer in hand.

“Amity, you’re back early.” He speaks roughly. “Where’s Mac?”

I swallow, my eyes trying not to take in the way his legs are slightly spread on the couch, or how his large arm drapes across the back of it. Like he’s in charge.

“Uh, she’s still at the dance. I decided to come back early.” I explain casually with a shrug.

He thinks for a moment. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I play it as cool as I can. “Dances just aren’t my thing.”

“The boy who took you, did he drop you off?” His jaw tenses, like he was not a fan of Jake. Which he’d be right to think that.

“Yup.” I lie.

Reluctantly Duke nods, like he knows I might be lying, but isn’t sure enough to continue.

“Well, I think I’ll go to bed. Thanks again for the dress, I love it.” I step backwards, about to attempt my walk towards the stairs without limping.

But I don’t even make it one single step before I wince, clearly showing pain as I put even a little pressure on my foot.

“What’s wrong?” Duke asks, his voice a little harsh.

“Oh it’s nothing.” I laugh. “I just got a little cut on my foot at the dance. I should probably go soak it and get a band aid.”

I start walking again, not trying to fight the limp anymore, just wanting to go upstairs quickly and be done with the night.

But my limp is obviously not to Duke’s liking, and soon enough his presence is surrounding me as a hand comes to my shoulder.

“Let me look at it.”

I’m being led almost forcefully to the kitchen then. “It’s alright, you don’t have to. I can take care of it.”

I’d much rather I take care of it myself.

“Hop up.” He ignores me as he motions for me to sit on the counter.

I take a deep breath for like the fiftieth time tonight and use my arms to hoist myself onto the counter.

Duke stand so close to me now, still a little taller than me, but almost eye level. He doesn’t look at me though, he just goes to remove my shoes.

“These goddamn heals alone will break your foot.” He grunts, removing the heel on my good foot first.

“Yeah,” I watch Duke set the shoe aside, the whole thing so small compared to the span of his fingers. “I don’t think I’ll be wearing them ever again.”

Duke moves onto the next foot, his left hand circling around my ankle in a surprisingly gentle grip, while his other removes the shoe.

“Fuck, Amity.” He growls, the heel coming off with dried blood inside.

I wince at the stinging I feel, and take in the mess around the sole of my foot.

I’m embarrassed by how bad it looks, and honestly surprised too.

“How did you do this?” He sounds angry, but not at me. Tossing the shoe to the ground he takes a step back, just enough to extend my leg straight to get a good look at it.

“There was a nail on the floor.” I explain, speaking quietly like one would when they’re in trouble.

“You were walking around without shoes on?” Duke’s hand is larger than my foot, making it look like a child’s rather than my own.

“Well my feet started hurting.” I can’t really see how bad the cut is myself from this angle. “I’m sorry.”

Duke stops observing my cut like he’s not sure how I’ve managed to get injured so badly, and turns his eyes to me. “What the hell are you sorry for?”

I bite into my bottom lip. “I don’t know. I just feel bad you have to deal with this. I can go clean it up myself.”

He shakes his head, annoyed I even suggested it. “Stay there.”

He gave me his, ‘he means business,’ face, so I feel I have no choice but to remain in my spot.

“You don’t think it needs stitches, do you?” I ask as he wets a rag in the sink behind me.

“Not sure.” He walks back towards me, and grabs onto my foot again. “Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

“I have.”

He starts wiping away the blood around my foot, the towel luckily warm and soft.

Although I don’t really focus on the towel, I’m too distracted by his hands on me. And they’re much warmer than the wet rag gliding across my skin.

I think I’m too distracted by his rough, dark skin against my pale, soft skin, to even care about the little sting that shoots through my foot when he nears the cut.

I’m glad my dress is covering my legs so he can’t see the goosebumps that would give way to my body’s reaction to him.

“It’s not deep.” He grabs another rag and wets it too, coming back and making sure to clean the entire area well. “It’s just long. Bled a lot, probably because you’ve been walking on it.”

“So I don’t need to get it checked out you think?” I ask, my hands resting in my lap.

“I’d say no, but if you’re worried about it, I’ll take you.” He assures, still looking down at my foot.

“It’s alright. I’ll call my mom and check what she thinks though.”

I sigh thinking about my mom. I want to tell her about the crappy night I just had.

Duke notices my sigh, and as he walks away to dispose of the towel and starts rummaging through one of his kitchen draws, he asks, “You miss your mom?”

“I do.” I state simply.

Duke steps back over with some Neosporin and a few band aids. “Do you regret staying here, not going back to live with her?”

I miss my mom and brother like crazy, but I would also miss it here if I left.

“I don’t know.” I hold in a wince as Duke applies the cream to my cut. “Pros and cons to either option I guess.”

“But your dad still lives here, right?” He starts putting the band aids on me, but can clearly sense how my body tenses at the mention of my dad.

He looks up at me for a second, reading my reaction, before going back to his task.

“Yeah, he’s still here.” I say dryly.

Duke finishes his work, standing tall once again in front of me, stepping a little closer as he lets go of my leg.

“And if I ask you why you’re not living with him, would you tell me?” His eyes might be the most serious I’ve ever seen them before as he explores mine. 

And to my shock, I don’t look away from him. I don’t try to hide what I feel, or how the mention of my dad makes my expression change. 

Even as I feel moisture pool in my sockets, I don’t look away.

I don’t let myself cry though. Not in front of duke. Instead I keep his gaze, and shake my head. Letting him know without words that I can’t go there. I won’t go there.

His eyes roam over my sad face, his face unreadable. Does he feel pity for me? Or does he not care? Who knows what he thinks.

After a moment he just nods, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

The way he says this, I know he doesn’t mean he’s sorry to hear that I won’t tell him the information he clearly wants to know. He says this because he’s sorry to hear that I’m sad over my dad. That something has happened regarding him that I won’t talk about.

And I appreciate this more than he knows. He doesn’t pry for answers. He just accepts my silence and leaves me be. That’s all I really want.

“I am to.” I whisper back.

He stays locked on me for a few more moments, clearly unaware of what being this close to him does to me. I’m about ready to combust, or at the very least run away. I can see the details of his face too vividly. 

His jawline is cut sharply, with a few days old stubble grown in. His lips look soft next to the roughness of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, secretive. Hiding under stern brows. His scar paints his face intricately… beautifully.

I want to kiss him.

I want him to kiss me.

I didn’t have this feeling earlier tonight with Jake. These butterflies in my stomach at the closeness. My lips practically tingling to be kissed, to connect with another’s.

But here, with Duke’s eyes never leaving mine, like he’s unable to pull away just as I am, I feel my body want to pull closer to him. Close the distance.

He was so gentle with my foot. He was understanding about my dad. He has an angry face, but when I’m this close to his eyes I see no anger in them. I see no annoyance or boredom. 

In fact, I swear, as we’re only a foot apart, I see desire.

Desire for what? Because it can’t be me. He can’t be having the same thoughts I am.

But he can’t look away. It’s been too long. He’s still looking. Why is he still looking?

Why is he leaning closer to me?

His body inching forward, his hands coming to the counter next to me.

Why can’t I stop myself from leaning forward?

As his body comes in the magnetic pull draws me closer, I can’t stop it. I don’t want to. 

His lips are so close now. So close to mine. His eyes darken a shade, expressions I don’t even know how to describe coming through.

I lick my lips. It’s not intentional, it’s just a reaction my body has. Preparation for what my lips crave so badly. For what my body craves.

His eyes catch the movement. Catch it and follow it until I’m through wetting my lips for him.

“Fuck.” He exhales, angry but also desperate.

Is he mad that I did that? I’m not sure. But I don’t get a chance to think about it.

His lips seal over mine.

They’re warm and soft. My cheeks scratch against his.

Shivers shoot down my spine, my stomach bubbly with excitement and nerves, and just complete shock.

Duke Jenson is kissing me.

And it feels so good.

It’s tentative at first, just our lips sealed to each other.

I keep my hands to myself, not sure what to do. Not sure how to even kiss back.

Duke controls the speed, controls the pressure. And I let him take what he needs, because I need it too.

He really was looking at me like he wanted to kiss me. And that thought both thrills and terrifies me.

I feel the wet warmth of his tongue against my sealed lips. I gasp, allowing him entrance.

He keeps his hands on the counter, as though he doesn’t want to touch me. Like he knows he can’t touch me.

So instead he makes do with his tongue. Searching my mouth for my own, applying pressure to it, waking me up from my daze to participate. 

I’m not sure what I’m doing as I meet my tongue with his, tasting beer and mint.

He lets me explore some, but not for long. He switches between tousling around with my tongue and sucking on my bottom lip. I can feel him plumping it with each kiss.

I had no idea kissing someone could feel this good. That it could send little waves of pleasure through my stomach, down to between my legs.

Holy crap. Between my legs. He’s turning me on. Like big time.

Just with his mouth and tongue, and the wet warmth I never thought would be this amazing.

I moan. I didn’t mean to but it came out, I’m enjoying myself too much to keep it in.

Tugging on my lower lip once more, Duke pulls away, and I just about whine at the loss.

I shouldn’t have made a noise, it woke him up from the spell he was under. The one that made him believe that it was okay that he did what he just did to me. That it was okay that he just kissed his daughter’s best friend. A seventeen year old girl.

Oh shit. It’s not okay. None of that is okay.

And yet we just did it. 

Duke’s eyes open, meeting mine once again, the desire still present, but now blended with something else. Something terrifying.

I think he just remembered all the things I just did. I think he just realized we made a big mistake just now.

Even though when he was kissing me it felt like just the opposite.

I want to say something, he wants to say something. But we don’t get the chance.

The front door opens.

We break apart. Duke separating form me like I was the one who just cursed him.

Footsteps make their way towards the kitchen, before a large figure steps in.

Benny.

“Whoa, parties over already Sunshine?” He steps into the kitchen, eyeing me curiously as I try to keep my head down.

“Yeah, I just got back.” I say.

Setting down a six pack Benny turns towards us, Duke now standing a decent amount away from me, looking like nothing happened.

I on the other hand probably look like a mess right now.

“You’re choosing to hang out with this guy instead of a party?” Benny asks in disbelief.

“She hurt her foot, it was better for her to come back early.” Duke adds.

“Huh.” Benny looks at my foot, then my face. Then towards Duke, and back to me. His face is curious, suspicious maybe. If my lips are as swollen as they feel then we’re screwed. “You good now though?”

“Yup, I’m good.” I hop off the counter onto my good foot, wanting the get the hell out of here and process what just happened while I’m alone in my room. “I think I’ll go get ready for bed now though.”

“You can stay down here. We’re not too old to be fun you know.” Benny jokes. “Well at least I’m not.”

“I’m good, but thanks.” I limp my way out of the kitchen as gracefully as I can. “Goodnight.”

I’m out before waiting for a response. Up the stairs, into my room, door closed and I’m left alone with a million thoughts slamming around in my head. 

I fall back onto my sheets, covering my face with my hands and expelling a long breath.

A line was just crossed tonight, one I didn’t think actually possible.

And we’re so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear if you guys enjoy this story and want it to continue!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this is a long one!   
> Hope you all enjoy!

I should have said no.

Should have said fucking no when my daughter asked if her friend could live with us.

Her friend. Little Rose. Who out of fucking nowhere got too damn pretty for her own good. For my own good.

Should have known she’d be jailbait, sitting around like temptation and sin. And that’s what she tasted like. The sweetest, purest sin I’ve ever had the pleasure of partaking in. 

Should’ve known that having a young girl who is not your daughter living in your house would mean nothing but fucking trouble.

But I didn’t know. Had no idea what sort of temptation could come from the shy little girl who used to run away from me when I entered a room. Didn’t know I was a weak man who found seventeen year old girls desirable.

No, not girls. Just one girl. Amity fucking Rose. Why? What the hell is it about her that has me changing what I’ve been attracted to in woman my whole life? Fuck, Amity isn’t even a woman, not fully yet.

But that didn’t stop me from doing it. 

She was so close, dripping in sadness and unsureness… and curiosity. 

She wanted me to kiss her. She couldn’t hide the way her eyes were asking for something she didn’t understand, or the way she’d peer at my lips, so subtly I almost didn’t notice.

She doesn’t even realize she’s sin on legs, or that every time she chews on that fucking lip she elicits a primal, instinctual reaction from me that I’ve got no fucking business having.

It’s not her fault. She has no idea what she’s doing, no fucking clue that she’s driving me to damn near insanity with her wide eyes that scream innocence, and her plump lips that beg to be tasted, and that goddamn blush that travels down her neck, even further down. I want to know how far it goes. Want to know where else she’d be pretty and pink.

That’s just how fucked up I am. I’m taking her innocence, her inexperience, her youth, and twisting it into something desirable. Something worth lusting over. Something… just…

Wrong.

But I didn’t touch her. I let myself believe if I kept my fucking hands to myself then just maybe it would be okay. I’d already screwed up the second I started leaning in. She was so small, so fragile like a glass doll, looking like I was about to trap her in a box when I rested my hands to her sides and covered her form.

My knuckles were white form pressure, my arms tensing like they wanted me to push away, but my body was already moving closer and closer to the girl that could ruin me if I made even one wrong move. Did one thing to her that she didn’t want, didn’t fucking desire as much as I did.

Her eyes widened, like she was surprised I was approaching her space, even though she’d just been looking at me like she wanted something but didn’t know how to ask for it.

I nearly pulled back at that look. Not because of how unsure she seemed, but because of how fucking young she looked. Hell she just got back from a high school dance, and then she’s sitting on my counter while I put a band aid on her that I knew damn well she could have done herself. And as I treated her little foot, cradling it like it’s delicate because in my hands that’s what it was, she was mindlessly swaying her other leg, picking at her fingers and trying not to twitch at the sting of her wound.

It’s what Mac did when she was younger, when she’d scrape another part of her body and came crying for me to make it better.

And I always did. Fixed her up, and kissed it better.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t pull away. Because I wanted to kiss her better, make those tears that started forming in her eyes go away because it did something to me, something cruel in my gut seeing her sad. 

Or maybe it was just the way she licked her lips like she didn’t mean to, but like she fucking liked the way I watched her do it. And I did watch. The entire hypnotic movement of that little tongue wetting her tempting lips like she was getting them wet for me. Ready for me. 

It put me in a trance, and that’s when I knew I was fucked. Too far gone to not kiss her. To not taste all the sweetness she was offering to me. That I really hope she was offering me.

Because if she wasn’t offering, then I was screwed for kissing her. For swallowing down the hitch in her breath, the surprise she let escape. 

Her lips were wet and warm and so damn soft I swear I’ve never felt something so smooth. And when she gasped into my mouth I let my intrusive tongue sneak in, not giving her a choice. 

I played with her tongue until she finally, after what felt like an eternity, started to participate. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh, groan, or punch myself in the fucking gut when she clearly had no idea what she was doing with that tongue of hers.

Her inexperience, the clearness that she was not versed in how to kiss a guy… a man… made my chest swell with some sort of twisted satisfaction, like I was fucking pleased that she didn’t know what she was doing. That this wasn’t something many boys, or any boys, got to take from her.

It made me think, for less than even one fucking second… ‘mine.’

Mine.

The reaction was primal and so fucked up I was instantly filled with equal parts guilt, and anger. 

And when she moaned, fucking moaned like the school girl she is, acting like she’s never been kissed before, I felt sick.

Fucking sick at the soft, high pitched, way too goddamn young moan that just spilled out of her hot mouth right into my greedy one.

It was enough to stop me, and thank fuck it did because any longer and Benny could have caught us. Any longer and I might have gave into my twitching hands, let them win the battle they were fighting with me to grab her. Sink my fingers into that dress and squeeze the skin underneath. 

Or better yet reached under that damn dress that I just had to fucking buy her, and see how smooth her skin was as I traced up the length of her leg, all the way up till I meet her-

Stupid. So fucking stupid. Not only would Benny have found me with my hands up a seventeen year old girls dress and my tongue down her throat, but I would have been even worse off than I already am.

I may have kissed her, may have stolen her sweetness, her fucking willingness, and took pleasure from it. Let my cock jerk in my pants from it like a sick man. But I didn’t touch her. 

I didn’t touch her.

Honestly that means shit because kissing is so much fucking worse than touching, but I’m gonna hang on to the fact like it’s my only life line in this shit I’ve created.

I’m also going to forget how good she tasted, and how her body squirmed a little, just an involuntary reaction right before she moaned. Like her body was asking for something and her mind wasn’t sure what to do about it.

I had a few ideas what to do about it, but when I saw her face afterwards, she looked fucking scared. Scared, and disappointed. 

She should be scared of me. Should be terrified of a grown man, who’s supposed to be looking out for her, violating her innocence the way I did. 

Her disappointment though, I can’t stop thinking about. Was she disappointed I stopped, or disappointed in herself for allowing it to happen?

I have no fucking clue. All I know is she ran out of there like she didn’t have that cut on her foot holding her back. 

I didn’t sleep last night, too busy remembering that one kiss like I’m a teenage boy who just hit first base. Then like I’m a man whose just sentenced himself to some sort of hell for acting upon my sick desires.

I gave up and left my room and the messed up thoughts that just lying in bed was giving me, and spent the night working on the basement. Just me and a fuck ton of guilt. Waiting for her to wake up, hoping she does before Mac. 

I have to talk to her. Get a read for where she’s at after I’m sure she’s had a night as full of confusing thoughts as I have. 

She could tell my daughter what I did to her last night. She could tell her mother.

I’d be screwed either way.

Now I just got to wait and hope I can talk my way out of this with her. And hopefully not confuse her more than I’m sure she already is.

 

 

I’ve been working since before the sun came up, now it’s just rising over the mountains. I take my anger and regret and put it into my drill before I force each nail into place.

My plan was to come down here and focus on the work that still needs to be done. Tackling the half kitchen I’m putting in was supposed to distract me from the fucking thoughts that were escaping up in my room. 

I can handle the guilt. I’ve dealt with worse.

What I can’t deal with are the thoughts of perversion that toyed with my imagination. Didn’t even want to close my eyes and try to sleep because of the images that came up behind my lids.

Images of that girl, too small, too sweet, too… everything. Images of her swollen lips from the kiss I stole from her. Images of her asking for more. Asking me to keep going. 

Images of me unzipping that too tight of dress, pulling it down so my wondering eyes could follow that blush. 

Would she have been wearing a bra?

Or would I have freed her small breasts and been met with the sight of her-

Christ, there they are again. Those fucking thoughts coming up like a fight I’m not capable of winning. I can throw punches at them to push it all away, but they just won’t stay down.

So instead I hammer, cut and drill shit till my hands go numb. My aggression not really in check as I keep breaking wood, and bending nails from force I’m not intending to apply.

But I keep going, throwing what I’ve broken out with a sharp curse, and start over. Beats punching holes in the wall like my fists ache to do.

I’m probably waking the house up working this early in the morning.

But Mac’s a deep sleeper and didn’t get home till right on her curfew. I’m sure she’ll sleep most of the day.

It will probably wake Amity though, if it hasn’t already. Which is fine seeing that I need to talk to her. Have no idea what I’m gonna fucking say, but I’ve got to figure some shit out.

I finish drilling one of the cabinet doors into place, the scent of saw dust filling the room and coating the hair on my arms. I’m about to move onto the next piece, when a knock alerts me of some ones presence.

I turn, as I’m crouched with one of my knees on the ground, drill still in hand.

At the bottom of the stairs is her. Amity. Ready for the day already. Dressed in paint covered jeans from her work down here, and an old grey t-shirt. Her hair’s pulled up, and she’s make up free.

She’s come down ready to work. 

Fuck no.

I didn’t hear her come down, and I’m not really sure how long she’s been standing there, watching me. Deciding if she’ll knock on the wall and let me know she’s here. Hell she’s probably been standing there swaying back and forth on her sneaker covered feet trying to work up the courage to say something. I can see the hesitation, the reluctance smeared all over her face. She’s not quite frowning, she doesn’t even look upset. She just looks, confused, unsure. And a little scared.

Like a puppy who thinks they’re in trouble, but wants their owner’s attention still anyways.

“Hi.” She’s quiet, her voice almost too soft for me to hear after the harsh vibration of my drill all morning. 

“Hey.” Not really sure what to say to the small thing acting like she won’t step any further into the space unless I invite her. “Did I wake you?”

Or were you up all night? Wondering what you were gonna do about the old man who stuck his tongue in your mouth last night.

“No.” She answers too quickly, voice still low and unsteady. “Um, I woke up early, and then heard you working.”

I nod. A short thing, just to encourage her to keep going.

She toys with the hem of her shirt, twisting it aggressively. “So, I thought I’d come down, and finish painting the walls, if that’s all right.”

She just wants to come and paint?

I glance over towards the wall she left off on, still unpainted. Then, after expelling a deeper breath, I turn back towards her.

“Don’t worry about it, I can finish it.” I say, thinking it’s not alright for her to come finish the wall, less than ten feet away from me, after last night.

“It’s okay, I’m happy to do the rest of it.”

“You’ve done enough work down here, I’ve got the rest taken care of.” And I just don’t want you down here with me, because of how much I actually do… want… you down here.

“I owe you for my car, so I’d like to finish it.” She’s hasn’t really made eye contact with me, not for more than a passing second. Now she just stares at her fingers as they mess with her shirt.

“Consider it paid off. In fact, it was already a while ago.” I stand, brushing my pants before leaning against the unfinished counter. “Mac doesn’t work today, you girls should go do something.”

Her chest rises, a breath being sucked in dramatically. “She won’t be up for a while, so I’ll just paint the rest of the walls and be out of your way.”

She starts walking then, sort of surprising me with her attempt at a demanding tone.

Not a very good attempt. Her voice was squeaky and laced with uncertainty. But for whatever reason she’s determined to finish painting, and has decided to just go and start working rather than argue any longer.

I find my lips twitching with unexpected amusement at her little walk over towards the paint. Trying to look confident when she’s anything but.

I catch myself though and straighten out my lips, watching her open up the paint bucket and get her supplies ready.

I should talk to her.

But I stall. I watch her carefully unwrap her paint materials from their bags. Watch her pour the paint out slowly, then grabs a roller and gets to work.

I watch the way her fucking shirt rises as she stretches to reach up the wall as far as she can. She’s so damn tiny she can only get up maybe half way. Meanwhile my eyes are magnetically pulled, like I don’t have a say in the matter, to the sliver of skin that becomes exposed.

Flawless, pale flesh that my hands ache to grab onto. My mind itching to know how much of her tiny self my fingers could wrap around.

I want to touch her. Just the same as last night. No point in denying the damn fact at this point. Maybe it’s best if I just replace denial with prevention.

Prevent myself from being alone with her. Prevent myself from doing something that could fucking end me.

I was able to rein in that desire that boiled up in my core to touch her last night. My restraint was the only thing that saved me from disaster. But I know if I’m in the same room as pure temptation for too long, my restraint might falter. 

I don’t realize how long I’ve been standing here, taking too long of a look at the stubborn girl, until she pauses her work, freezing for a moment to twist her fragile neck around. Just barely, only enough to flick her eyes towards me, to see that I haven’t moved.

She snaps backs to her painting, the awkward shifting of her legs and twitch of her hand making it clear she’s uncomfortable.

And fuck if that doesn’t piss me off.

Seems like she doesn’t want to talk about the events of last night. Hell, I sure as fuck don’t want to talk about it. But I’m the adult and she’s the… teenager… fuck. It’s in her best interest that we talk about it, and I know I’m responsible for making sure we do.

My jaw clenches tightly as I shake my head, knowing I really screwed the fuck up. “Amity.”

My voice is clipped and harsh. Maybe I meant to sound gentler, but I just don’t think I can make that happen right now.

She stops what she’s doing, kneeling down to set her paint roller back into the pan before she hesitates there, staring blankly at the floor.

Jeez, I can feel her unease like a heavy weight on my ribs. I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest before trying again. “Listen, Amity, I-“

“I’m sorry.” She cuts me off, shooting up from where she was crouched, facing me and much to my surprise, looking me straight in the eye.

I arch a brow at her, unsure of what to say. I’m taken back by the expression on her face. Like a puppy who just snuck into the treat bag.

“You’re sorry?” What the fuck is she sorry for?

“I am.” Her chest rises as a silent, but deep breath enters her lungs. “Last night… I… I’m sorry about that. You know, uh, what happened.”

Her eyes dart across the room at a rapid pace, her energy all sorts of nervous and tense.

My gaze narrows, knowing I should interject her not necessary apology, but curious as to what this girl will say next.

Although she must misread my curious gaze for an angry one. Benny, Mac and just about every goddamn person I know tell me I’m a mean looking fucker. Suppose they’re right too. Seems like little Amity Rose thinks the same judging by the step backwards she takes given my change in expression.

“I won’t tell anyone!” She exclaims quickly, speaking fast and high pitched like she’s panicked to make sure I know she won’t rat me out. Like she knows what could happen to me if she does. “I know last night was kind of… weird… and I wasn’t thinking clearly I guess. So, yes, I’m really sorry. I don’t want to cause trouble being here. So, maybe, we can just pretend like it never happened, you know.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, a move that lately seems to always capture my attention. But this time I’m too fucking confused to pay any mind to it. 

Why the hell did this little thing just apologize to me, three times no less, when I’m the piece of shit that decided he just had to have a taste of her sweetness?

All she did was sit there and take it.

My eyes never leave hers as I respond. “Don’t apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong, Amity.”

She swallows, her hands now behind her back, her face uncertain. She looks younger, even more fucking innocent than she did last night as she shyly stands in the corner, so damn small, acting like I’m about to put her in time out.

“But I did.” She whispers, too damn quiet. “Last night, I shouldn’t have-“

“You didn’t do anything.” I argue, pissed off that she thinks she’s to blame. 

I wish I could be mad at her, blame all my anger on her. But it’s not her fault I’m turning out to be a pervert who can’t keep his eyes… or mouth… to himself.

She’s chewing on her lips, but makes no move to speak again. 

“Last night is on me, Amity.” I decide to continue. “What I did, was a mistake.”

She suddenly looks hurt. Why the fuck did those words elicit that reaction?

“You didn’t do anything wrong. But I did. I won’t let it happen again, but I want to make sure you understand that.”

She doesn’t respond at first, and I can see thoughts churning around in her head.

“Amity.” I draw out, wishing like fuck I was as strong as the man I always thought I was so I wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.

“I understand.” She says quickly, but not with confidence. 

I nod, getting another look at her face, wishing she looked surer of what she was saying. 

“But it’s still not your fault.” She continues.

This girl has no clue how much of my fault this is. It makes my jaw clench in frustration.

“I’m a grown man, Amity, and you’re seventeen.” My stomach clenches at saying it out loud. “So yeah, it’s my fault, my burden. I have no idea why the fuck you let me do it, but it doesn’t matter. Because in the end I’m still to blame. As I should be.”

My voice comes out louder than intended, and fuck if it doesn’t mess me up seeing her lip start to tremble.

“I wanted it.” She whispers. So quiet, so hushed I’m not sure if I heard her right. I better not have fucking heard her right.

“What?” I ask sharply.

“I wanted you to do it.” Still quiet, but she’s loud enough this time for me to know for sure I heard her correctly.

I swear she’s trying to give me a heart attack.

I breathe deep and try to push aside the thoughts that come to mind at hearing her say those words. “You’re too young to know what you want.” I try to speak calmly. It’s damn hard though.

“That’s not true.” She stubbornly holds my stare. “I’m young but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand things. I’m not disagreeing with you, it should never happen again. But we’re both to blame for last night, because I wasn’t just some innocent being taken advantage of. If I wanted you to stop, I would have stopped you, and I know you would have the second I pushed you away.”

She’s right, I would have stopped. She should have stopped me.

“You shouldn’t have wanted it.” I growl. “You shouldn’t want anything to do with a grown man.”

If this situation wasn’t fucked up enough, now I’m scolding the girl for wanting me to kiss her.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.” She agrees.

Her eyes start darting around the room, her mouth opens, then closes, opening again.

“I’m attracted to you.”

Jesus fuck, that’s it. She really does just want to kill me. 

“Amity-“ I’m about to warn her to get that shit out of her head because honestly, little girls with crushes like that are nothing but trouble, but she cuts me off.

“It’s fine. I’m just saying that I am and that’s why I didn’t stop you. But I know it’s stupid so don’t worry about.” She huffs, looking annoyed. But I think it’s with herself rather than with me.

What the hell could this sweeter than honey girl see in an old fucker like me?

“Yeah, it is stupid.” That look of hurt washes over her again at my words, and I’d rather take a beating than to see that again. I reign in my harsh tone, trying to calm my words. “Listen, there’s nothing wrong with having a crush, but not on me. You need to get over it, for both our sakes.”

She gently nods her head, as though she’s processing my words.

“Okay.” She agrees, although her voice comes out defeated.

She may have agreed it should never happen again, but that doesn’t stop a strange sense of disappointed in her eyes.

I should turn around and get back to work and try like fuck to pretend she isn’t here. It won’t work, but I can pretend. But my eyes scan down, towards her foot with that fucking cut that started this shit.

“Is your foot alright?”

“It’s fine, thank you.” She’s back to work, her response clipped, with no real emotion to it.

“Don’t stand on it too long if it’s hurting you.” I turn around, looking at the work in front of me, trying to decide what to do next.

“I won’t.” she’s short with me again. Clearly upset but trying not to show it.

Fuck this. I make my way towards the stairs. I don’t say anything, just leave because I can’t deal with her silence any more than I could handle her words. 

I head to the garage, taking a seat in the chair I’ve got set up and grab a much needed smoke.

I let the smoke burn through me in a way that usually distracts me from shit. But instead as I blow it out all I can think of is how all the crap with Amity feels even less resolved now. And a hell of a lot worse. 

Because now, not only am I a sick fuck who’s attracted to a seventeen year old girl. Now she’s attracted to me as well.

“Fuck.”

 

 

 

 

I thought two weeks away would be what I needed to get over my ‘crush’ on Duke.

That’s what he called it. A ‘crush.’

Yes that’s technically what it is. But the way he, a grown man, said it, like it was something juvenile and not to be taken seriously, hurt.

‘I’m attracted to you.’

Ugh, those words make me cringe. Why did I say that?

Probably because I was freaking out like I’ve never freaked out before. I may have appeared at least somewhat collected on the outside, but on the inside I was on a spin cycle of crazy. That’s what a night of no sleep and confusion like you’ve never felt will do to you.

He kissed me like he was hungry, no starving, for it. And I liked it. Wanted nothing more than for him to take more, to steal everything he could from that one stolen kiss.

To touch me.

But he didn’t touch me, whereas I was only moments away from sucking up all my fear and doubt, and touching him.

And now I’m royally screwed because even two weeks without having to face him or his brooding, endearing, too good looking self has not saved me from letting him control my every thought.

Two weeks back home in Maryland, seeing family I’ve missed, and celebrating Christmas.

I had come home not long ago for thanksgiving, but that was only for a few days.

A week after the kiss that jumbled my brain and my body, I flew home, hoping to leave all things Duke behind.

But it didn’t work. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way his lips felt on mine, the way I wanted to run my hands through the hair on his jaw.

He was one step away from being a grade A asshole that week after our kiss, right before I left to come home. If he wasn’t avoiding me all together, he was ignoring me, acting like I was some sort of invalid. 

He was short and made himself scarce, working longer hours.

Even Mac said, “Sometimes my dad gets to be a real dick, and right now is one of those times. I don’t know who put that stick up his ass.”

I feel bad, because I’m pretty positive I’m the one who put the stick up his ass. I didn’t push him away when he gave into his male instincts to kiss me. And then I confessed that I wanted it, that I was attracted to him no less.

I’m not dumb. I mean I’m dumb enough to have said those stupid words, but not dumb enough to not understand how much that must torment a grown man. Because truth is, I’m a teenager, and he should never hear any of that come from me.

I found myself thinking of him all the time. I’d be having dinner with my family, and start wondering what he’s having for dinner. And if he’s alone.

Has he been with Tisha? Has he kissed her the way he kissed me? Like he couldn’t get enough of the pure taste of me.

Then Christmas morning, sitting around the tree with my brother, mom and grandparents, I just wanted to know if he was alone.

Mac was with her mom this year, leaving her dad by himself. 

Thinking of him alone does something to my heart. Just an aching feeling creeping in. But then I think of him not alone, spending the holiday cozy and warm with her.

That thought makes the ache in my chest turn into a sting.

I don’t want to feel this way. I’m not even sure I fully understand these deceitful feelings. All I know is I hurt when I think of Duke with her. I wish I was near him when I’m not. 

I’m becoming obsessive, and two weeks without seeing him, without knowing if he’s glad I’m out of his way or not, has made it worse. 

Despite my fear of seeing him, I spent the whole holiday itching to see him again.

And now, as I wait at baggage claim for my luggage to arrive, all my nerves and unresolved feelings are bubbling up.

Mac should be here soon to pick me up and take me back to her dad’s house. Despite feeling guilty for my inappropriate feelings for her a father, I’ve missed her as well.

Being home was nice, sure. But it was also depressing. As in my mom was depressed. It was obvious despite her best attempt to hide it. But she’s sad and seemed lost.

I didn’t know how to help her, and I added it to my growing list of guilt. Because I worry that me being here and not there with her is only hurting her more.

Luckily I’m distracted from my thoughts of my mom when I spot my grey suitcase come towards me. It’s almost too heavy, but I manage to get it without falling on my ass.

DIA is a maze of an airport. But luckily I just follow others who were on my plane and manage to get out just fine.

As I’m approaching the exit I realize I should probably turn my phone back on and text Mac to see where she’s at.

The screen lights up within seconds, soon displaying my lock screen.

Three consecutive dings alert me of incoming messages as I step outside the airport doors, watching where I’m stepping so I don’t run into anyone.

Once I’m leaned up against a brick wall, I look down, all messages from Mac.

Mac: Hey girly listen, you luv me don’t you?!  
Mac: Like luv me soooo much that you’ll forgive me for not being able to come pick you up today!!!  
Mac: I know you do! But don’t worry, I got my dad on it. He should be there when you land! Luv you!!

I blink a few times, swearing under my breath at Mac for choosing this moment to ditch.

Me: Why aren’t you coming to get me?

I respond, my heart rate picking up slightly at the fact that Duke is here and we’re going to spend the next hour sitting in his truck.

Doing what? Talking? Sitting in pained silence?

Mac: Ryland scored last minute tickets to the Beyoncé concert tonight! BEYONCÉ CONCERT!! You don’t say no to the queen Amity…

Well she’s got me there.

I sort of want to yell at her, but that would be irrational, and confusing seeing as she has no idea that my anger would be due to my attraction towards her dad.

So I’ll be the supportive friend I only ever am.

Me: No worries! Have fun!

Nerves run through my blood stream as I begin walking down the pickup line. It doesn’t take long before I spot Dukes black truck, immediately giving myself a pep talk in my head in order to gain as much courage as I can.

I approach the truck from behind, and expect to have to knock on the window to get his attention, but instead he steps out, circling around in jeans and a white shirt covered by a blue coat.

“Hi.” I say first, but it comes out as a stutter.

“Hey.” He grabs my suitcase, lifting it like it weighs nothing. “Good flight?” He asks, not looking at me, instead setting my baggage in the back seat before closing the door.

“Not bad.” I pass him to reach the passenger door, my teeth chattering from being in the cold for more than a minute.

He steps back into the driver’s seat, and must notice my shivering as he turns the heat up before pulling away from the curb.

There’s snow everywhere, stacked several feet high along the roads. Just a soft flurry in the air now though.

“You guys must have had a pretty big storm here.” I say.

“Yeah, snowed for four days straight.” 

“I’m sorry you had to come get me with all this snow on the ground.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “It’s not a problem. Probably wouldn’t have let Mac come get you in this anyways.”

I smirk at that. “Yeah she can barely manage the roads when they’re dry.”

He huffs.

“Thank you though.” I assure, staring straight ahead as I rub my hands between my legs.

“Sure.” He’s not talkative, but at least he’s not being completely cold to me.

With the snow this is sure to be a longer drive than usual, and after about ten minutes of silence, I sigh, and decide I’m going to have to speak first.

“So… sounds like Mac might have a boyfriend then.” I smile to myself as he visibly tenses next to me.

“Yeah, sounds like it.” he grumbles. I actually find his distaste towards Ryland kind of cute. Not that I’d ever tell him that. 

“You scared him, you know.” I continue, chancing a glance over towards him.

“Who?” he says distractedly.

I roll my eyes. “Ryland. He’s scared of you.”

“Good, he should be.” Duke grunts, but doesn’t seem happy as he says it. “Barely spoken to the kid. He that much of a wuss?”

I chuckle, “Well you shook his hand when you first met him like you intended to break it off and keep it as I prize.”

That catches Duke’s attention, him glancing towards me with a raised brow.

“And then when he came with Mac to drop me off at the airport, he kept trying to tell you about himself, and you gave him the dad stare hard.”

“The dad stare?” He questions, not sounding amused. Which sort of amuses me.

“Yeah, like your eyes are telling him that if he hurts your daughter you will find him.” I laugh again. “And like, beat him up or something.”

“Huh.” Just huh.

“You just weren’t giving him the time of day.” I add.

“I don’t really give a shit if he’s on the football team. Or what car he drives.” 

“He was trying to relate to you.” I counter.

“Never played football.”

“But you work on cars every day.”

He grunts, really not giving a shit.

I giggle again, happy some of the weight on my shoulders has lessened. He’s not acting the same way towards me as before I left for Christmas. Maybe this means we can get back to the way things were.

Which weren’t exactly that comfortable but we were able to have nice conversations at least.

“How’s your mom?” He asks after a few minutes.

“She’s good.” A sigh sneaks out as I say this.

“Doesn’t sound that good.” He adds.

She divorced her husband and uprooted her life, without her daughter, and moved back in with her parents surrounded by a family we’ve barely seen the past seven years. And now she works so many shifts she’s just a walking zombie at this point. That and this accelerated depression she’s going through, I’d say she actually isn’t doing very good.

“It’s just hard, I guess.” I decide to say. “Moving back home, and suddenly being single now, having to work and take care of everything by herself.”

Including the bankruptcy I know my dad left her in.

“She’s living with her parents though, right?” He asks, no judgement in his tone.

“Yeah, and I think that’s part of the problem. No one wants to be that old and move back in with their parents.”

“Makes sense.”

This reminds me of something Mac told me last week over the phone.

“Speaking of, Mac said your parents are coming into town.”

“They are.” He doesn’t sound very happy about that. “Just a few days later this month. They’ll be here for Macs birthday.”

“What are they like?” I pry, because I am very curious what the two people who raised Duke are like.

“Like you’d expect. They’re old and enjoy complaining about the news. Make it to the early bird special at Sizzlers at least three times a week.”

I chuckle.

“But they’re good people.”

“Are you a lot like your dad?” 

“Not at all.” He says strangely.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Dukes looks towards me. “He’s not an asshole.”

I’m caught off guard by his bluntness. “Oh, well… neither are you.” I say shyly.

“I am though. You know well enough by now.”

I mean, yeah he can be an asshole, but not like, the bad kind of asshole.

“Real assholes would never admit that they are one.” I defend him to himself.

“Oh really?”

“Yup.” I start to tap my fingers on my jeans.

He’s silent for a beat. I can tell he looks at me, but I keep my eyes out the window. “What does that make me then?”

I think for a moment before I face him, his eyes are back on the road. 

“Just a dick.” I shrug 

I can tell I take him by surprise, and I bite my cheek, nervous about saying something crude to him when I’ve never done so before.

Then he laughs. Like really, truly laughs. The sounds resonating from somewhere deep in his chest, coming out gravelly and manly.

And it send shivers down my spine.

But I laugh too, nervously at first.

It only last a few seconds, but I can’t help the smile that won’t disappear from my face afterwards. I’ve never made him laugh before. And the last few weeks I’ve been thinking he might have started to hate me.

I still am unsure of his thoughts towards me, and may never see beyond his walled off exterior, but I hope to remember his laugh, and imprint it in my brain because the sound was too lovely to forget.

“Not sure there’s a difference between the two, Little Rose.” He says after a minute.

I grin out the window, that name doing weird things to me again. “I think there is.” I argue.

“Huh.”

 

 

Marcy and Elliot Jenson really are good people. I mean the two of them could enter a competition to see who can complain the most, but they’re like seventy five years old, so who cares.

They must have been fairly old when they had Duke, Marcy telling me that he was such a high risk pregnancy, he came seven weeks early, weighing barely more than four pounds. 

“And now look at him!” She had exclaimed cheerfully, her grey hair bobbing up and down in that signature grandma style. “He’s so big I swear that boy can barely fit through a door way!”

She laughed and looked over at Duke in the kitchen as he spoke with his father. A smaller man, which took be by surprise when I first saw him. Marcy’s eyes shown with so much adoration when she looked at her son. Like she praises the ground he walks on and sees him as a true miracle. 

I smile at that.

It’s the night of Mac’s eighteenth birthday, and we’re on our way to some Italian restaurant I’ve never heard of before. 

We all drive in Duke’s truck, him and his dad up front while Mac and I squeeze in the back with her grandma. Luckily she’s the tiniest old lady I’ve ever seen.

“Now I know it’s no sizzlers, but I promise you guys will love this place.” Mac excitedly assures us all as we’re pulling in.

“I’m sure we will, sweetheart.” Elliot says back to his granddaughter, his voice friendly and warm like it is with everything I’ve heard him say.

We all file out of the truck once it’s parked, entering the frigid cold night.

“My nipples are two seconds from falling off.” Mac says to me, dramatically shivering from head to toe.

I’m pretty sure mine have shriveled up as well.

“It’s officially hard nipple season, girls.” 

My mouth along with Mac’s drop open, both of us staring towards her grandmother.

“Did you just say…” Mac leans towards her small grandma, whispering, “Hard nipple season?”

I am so grateful that Duke and his father are on the other side of the car right now.

“Well it’s the truth now isn’t it? Our headlights are turning on in this cold, so we best keep them covered.” Marcy says like it’s just a matter of fact.

Then she walks off, grabbing onto Duke’s arm so he can escort her across the icy parking lot.

It’s like a hockey rink. You’d think for a fancy restaurant they’d at least do a decent job plowing their lot.

“Did my little elderly grandma really just refer to our boobs as headlights that are turning on during this hard nipple season?” Mac steps next to me, linking our arms together.

“Now I know where you get it from.” I chuckle, beginning to walk forward with careful steps.

“I can only hope to be as cool as she is one day.”

We luckily make it to the front doors without falling face first on the ground. And luckily with no elderly injuries either. For a minute there I was a little concerned for Elliot as he started to waver a bit.

The hostess inside asks us how many, and while we’re all trying to warm up from the three minutes we were outside, I overheard Duke tell the lady there will be seven dining with us tonight.

“Who else is coming tonight?” I lean over to Mac.

“Benny always comes to my birthdays.” She smiles.

That’s one other person, but that doesn’t make seven of us. 

Oh lord I hope the extra seat is not for who I think it is.

I take a deep breath, deciding not to let Mac know we might have a ‘special’ guest joining us tonight. She’ll find out soon enough, and surely have a fit about it later tonight.

We’re led towards our table in the back of the restaurant, Duke and his parent walking ahead of Mac.

I’m not going to lie. Duke walks right in front of me, and I can’t tuck away my desire to ogle him. Just a little bit.

He’s so tall, the tallest person in the room surely. 6’5 and built like a tank. It’s as terrifying as it is endearing. The sight of his hands, looking rough and worked hard over the years, does weird things to me that I have no understanding of.

The best way to describe it is that they give me this strong desire to be touched by them. Like everywhere.

And that’s a problem.

I can’t deny it anymore, can’t skirt around the plain and simple fact that I’m undoubtedly attracted to this man. This grown, forbidden, over twice my age and size man.

I shouldn’t have these thoughts, but I do and I won’t pretend like I don’t. All that matters is I accept it and get over it.

But dang does his ass look good in his jeans.

Oh my god, the last thing Mac would want to find out, on her birthday no less, is that I’m eye groping her dad.

Pull yourself together Amity.

I’ve managed to play it cool the last three weeks since I returned here from Maryland, and while on the outside everything appears back to normal, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like a ticking time bomb ready to explode all my coolness away and slip up.

We reach the table, a large circular one, where Duke pulls out a chair for his mother, then gestures for everyone to pass him and have a seat.

I walk by him, maybe a little closer than necessary, and can smell the spicy scent to him. 

A smell I’ve grown to quite enjoy. 

As I take my seat next to Mac, an empty chair beside me, I catch Duke looking at me. I’m not sure what kind of expression sits in his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He’s looking longer than he should once again.

Like he has been the last few weeks. Like he’s sure I don’t notice, but when I can’t stop stealing glances as well, I have definitely noticed.

My cheeks blush, my hands begin to fidget. And when Duke decides to sit next to his mother, across the table and two empty seats away from me, I can’t help the disappointment that creeps up.

It’s for the best that he doesn’t sit too close. And I wish I could go back to the time when I was too scared to even be in the same room as him.

A few minutes pass before I feel a hand touch my back. More like smack my back. It’s totally playful as Benny sneaks up behind us, jolting Mac and I in our seats, causing both of us to jump in unison.

“Mackenzie Rein Jenson, don’t tell me it’s true.” Benny exclaims, leaning down and putting his arm around Mac.

She looks up and gives him a toothy grin. “Don’t tell you what’s true?”

“You’re not an adult now, are you?” Benny furrows his brow, almost looking truly upset. “Because I’m not happy about that. Nor am I okay with it.”

Mac giggles, “Sorry old man, full-fledged adult, sitting right here.”

“Aw man, you’re wounding me.” Benny grips his chest. His attention turns towards me. “Sunshine, don’t tell me you’ve decided to become a grown up also.”

I chuckle alongside Mac. “Nope. Not yet anyways.”

“Well thank god, at least there’s still one innocent left.” He smiles. He has one of the nicest smiles I think I’ve ever seen in fact.

There was nothing innocent about the way I let Duke put his tongue down my throat that night.

I cringe internally.

“Whatever old geezer, why don’t you go sit at the other side of the table with the old folk now.” Mac teases, playfully throwing Benny’s arm off her.

“Wow, I actually think I’m good right here with the two of you.” Benny plops down in the seat next to me, adjusting his leg just right to be comfortable. “You three going to let her talk to me that way?”

Benny asks the three others at the table. Duke only looks mildly amused, but Marcy and Elliot laugh along with Mac.

“Can’t argue with the birthday girl, Benny.” Elliot chuckles.

“Oh, speaking of birthday girl, as in me, listen to what Ryland did for me at school today.” Mac excitedly starts up her story I’ve already heard twice about how Ryland surprised her with flowers in every class, followed by the biggest bouquet of all on the hood of her car.

I don’t pay much mind to the story, instead sipping my water and internally laughing at Duke’s unimpressed expression. Which basically is just a scowl.

“I saw a certain wicked witch ride in on her broom stick as I was walking in.” Benny suddenly leans into me, whispering so no one can hear.

“Would it be the witch I’m thinking it is?” I ask. I’m more glad than I should be that Benny and Mac both hold equal disdain for Tisha. And that Benny has no qualms about making it known to us.

“The very one.” He answers, “She was heading towards the bathroom when I saw her.”

“Mac doesn’t know she’s coming. Hence why she’s so happy right now.” I add.

“Great,” Benny leans away, realizing in his seat. “Sit back and enjoy the show.”

Definitely won’t enjoy it.

My attention switches back to the other occupants of the table, about to reach for a piece of bread before I’m halted. 

Duke stares at me. Hard. Just the dark narrowing of his eyes practically piercing my skin form the intensity. He looks annoyed and angry, but I don’t really get why.

Instincts tell me to look away, maybe start picking at my nails while my cheeks start to burn up.

But I’m braver now. I don’t know why but since that kiss I’ve toughened up a bit. Not much, but some. Enough that I don’t pull away from his intimidation. Thankful that Mac and her grandparents are deep in conversation so they don’t pay any mind to me and her father’s standoff.

I don’t know what his deal is. One minute he’s kissing me, the next he’s ignoring me, then he switches back to normal, and now he looks like he wants to strangle me. 

Or kiss me again.

My skin tingles with goose bumps. 

His jaw clenches, but I don’t look way.

“Hi, so sorry I’m late.”

In the end it’s neither of us that back down, instead we’re interrupted by the oddly chipper voice of a certain unwanted guest.

At least unwanted by three of us.

I hold back my scowl as I snap my attention away from Duke, first turning towards Mac to gage her reaction.

Yup, her shock quickly shifts to anger. Her reaction not so hidden like my own.

I then turn towards Benny, curious to see if has more to say.

But his attention isn’t on Tisha as she takes her seat next to Duke, on the other side of Benny. Instead he’s looking at me. 

It’s only for a second, but the look he gives me is odd and suspicious.

He probably caught me being glared at by his friend from across the table.

I smile shyly, Benny taking it as a signal to quit inspecting me. 

“Happy birthday Mac, this is for you.” Tisha smiles too big and hands a small box across the table towards Mac. 

“Thanks.” There’s no amusement in her tone or face as she snatches the box out of her hand.

Geez, I don’t like the woman any more than she does, trust me. But Mac really can’t fake it one bit.

“And you must be Marcy and Elliot. I’m Tisha, it’s so nice to meet you finally.”

Tisha shakes hands with Duke’s parents, the three of them chipper as they make their introductions.

Mac is fuming next to me. And I can’t help but feel her anger settle onto me as well.

Why the hell would Duke invite her? It’s his daughter’s birthday and he knows how she feels. She’s made her opinion very clear in fact.

I glance back and forth between the father and daughter who are currently having a full conversation with their intense glares alone.

Mac is saying ‘why the hell is she here?’

While Duke is saying ‘chill the fuck out.’

I’ve heard Duke tell Mac several times that she lacks manners, and right now she’s displaying that proudly.

I don’t say much through dinner, realizing quickly that despite Mac being like a sister to me, this is not my family. Suddenly I feel like I’m not supposed to be here. Like I can’t keep up with all the memories and personal conversations that are discussed.

At least I’m more welcome than Tisha though. So how bad can it be?

By the time our food arrives, everyone cheerfully digs in, and Mac seems to have lessened in frustration. 

“So, Amity,” I’m stirring around my pasta noodles, mindlessly playing with it, when Tisha’s voice is suddenly directed towards me. “Your mom is living out of state, right?”

I pause, still holding my fork in my hand, and look towards Tisha. “Yeah, she’s in Maryland right now. That’s where we’re from.”

“Ah. When did you move here?” She inquires, stirring her drink with the straw before taking a sip. Her lips purse around the straw while her eyes widen. 

I don’t really see why she’s asking about me when the only time I’ve ever met her, back while Mac and I were dress shopping, she looked at me like I was some sort of pesky rodent.

“When I was ten.” I answer simply.

“I met her the day she moved in! She was all sad on the side of the road, thinking her life was over.” Mac chirps excitedly.

Tisha ignores her though, her eyes still on me. “So your mom moved back home and you chose to stay?”

I nod, anxiously grabbing my own drink, feeling uncomfortable that everyone else at the table is focused on me.

All I do is nod in response.

“I’m surprised she let you do that. I’d never let my daughter be that far away on her own.” Tisha chuckles.

Tisha doesn’t even have kids, so I don’t get why she cares.

“I put in a good argument.” I add.

“Must have.” Tisha laughs lightly again, before going straight lipped. “And what about your dad? Where does he live?”

Jeez, what is this? Twenty questions?

I don’t want to talk about my dad. Especially not to her.

“He lives here.” I answer, not sure how to avoid it.

“But you don’t live with him?” She tilts her head, eyes still wide like there’s not a thing wrong with her question.

Maybe there isn’t, maybe I’m just being sensitive. But something about her face, so smug and lacking empathy, is rubbing me the wrong way.

Obviously I don’t live with my dad. Hence the reason I live with Mac and Duke. She’s asking because she’s trying to pry into the reason I don’t live with him.

“Nope.” I shake my head, my hands now under the table where I pick at my nails.

“Why is that?” She doesn’t miss a beat.

“Tisha.” Duke’s voice is sharp, coming out as a warning.

I guess I’m not the only one who thought the question was rude. 

I glance at Mac beside me, her scowl has returned and is shooting towards Tisha. 

Everyone else looks a little uncomfortable, which amplifies my nerves even more. I peer at Duke, a scowl so much like Mac’s, but with rivaling intensity, sits on his face.

Once again he’s looking at me. And once our eyes lock, he reluctantly exchanges his scowl for an unreadable expression.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Tisha looks around the table, acting as though she’s surprised that her question came off as offensive. “I guess I let my curiosity get the best of me. I’m glad you’ve got a place to stay, Amity.” Her attention turns toward Duke. “It was nice of you to take her in.”

Her hand goes to his arm, rubbing up and down and gazing up at him with cat like eyes.

‘It was nice of you to take her in.’

Like I’m some sort of homeless leech mooching off of an unsuspecting family.

“She’s more than welcome.” Duke grunts, seeming unamused by his date at the moment.

I blush at his words, mainly because he’s still looking at me. I have no clue how to read him right now, but it’s clear he’s got things churning in that thick skull of his.

“What a bitch.” Mac says under her breath.

And then as though she had never spoken to me in the first place, Tisha jumps right into an exaggerated story regarding her restaurant to Duke’s parents. And the night goes on.

Duke doesn’t say much the remainder of the night. He just sort of broods away in his seat. And I find it interesting that no one seems faced by his pensiveness, like maybe they’re used to it.

Everyone also didn’t seem to notice I had to quickly snap my attention away from Duke, I swear nearly breaking my neck, every time I chanced a peek at him and caught him once again looking. 

God it’s starting to get really warm in here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why did you bring her to dinner?”

Amity’s soft words float into the room from behind me. I heard her come down, listened to every careful foot step down the stairs as I anticipated once again being alone with her in the basement.

“Why wouldn’t I bring her?” I question, refusing to turn around because if I do, I might not be able to turn away.

Because she looked… beautiful… tonight. She may be small, but she dressed like a woman at dinner. Her dress hugged her in a way that flattered her form and made me fucking stare like a real son of a bitch.

And that pissed me off. Add in Tisha’s bitchiness on high tonight, dinner was shit.

Plus the fact that my daughter is eighteen now and I’m not fucking okay with it.

Amity steps closer to me, entering the small kitchen I stand in as I finish cleaning up the last of the mess down here.

I’ve tried not to look at her since the night I kissed her. Tried and fucking failed. 

The past several weeks I’ve done nothing but look. Hiding it the best I can, until tonight. She looked too fucking… pretty. Not a word I ever used before Amity, but now it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of her.

Pretty.

“Maybe because clearly nobody likes her, specifically your daughter. So her birthday dinner probably wasn’t the best place to bring her.”

She speaks calmly, and I wonder when the fuck she found her courage to call me out. She never used to be this brave.

I’m not a fan of it. It makes her even more interesting to me.

I shouldn’t find her interesting at all.

“Mac needs to learn to get over it.” I grumble, even though I know I was fucking wrong to bring her tonight. 

But with Amity back in town, I needed the reminder of who I’m with. Needed the distraction from the forbidden girl who I’ve now tasted.

It didn’t fucking work though.

Amity sighs. “I don’t think Mac’s party was the right time though.” 

Why the fuck can’t you run away from me Little Rose? Just like you always used to.

Because now you’re calling me on my shit and its making things even more complicated.

“Amity, you know it doesn’t concern you, so why are you down here, badgering me about this right now?”

There’s a pause, a hint of hurt surely registering in her features.

Then she speaks. “Because Mac was upset when we got home. She wasn’t happy about it, and when she left to go to her mom’s house, she was still unhappy.”

Fuck, I know I’m an asshole.

And a dick.

But despite that I am intuitive, and I know Amity isn’t down here to tell me off for hurting Mac’s feelings. She knows it’s none of her business. She’s the one who’s really upset.

“What do you want Amity? Do you want me to apologize to Mac, or do you want the apology?” I ask, deciding it’s time to turn around and face her.

She’s changed since this evening. Her dress gone… thank fuck… and now she wears grey cotton leggings and a pink t-shirt. 

She appears caught off guard by my question. But she quickly recovers. “Tisha was kind of rude.” She says quietly.

“She was.” Amity seems surprised by my answer. “And I talked to her about it.”

Told her she was out of line. She didn’t listen though, just wanted me to come over to her place after I dropped my parents off at their hotel and surely give her a punishment fuck.

If I was a smarter man, that’s exactly what I would have done. As to not be in the situation I am now. Alone in the house with Amity. Alone in the basement with her.

“She really doesn’t seem to like me.” Amity adds.

“Why wouldn’t she?” 

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I don’t say anything else, instead crossing my arms over my chest.

“Does she know?” Amity asks.

“Know what?” I ask, not liking the way her eyes widen in innocence and curiosity as she asks.

“That you kissed me?” Amity starts wringing her hands together, clearly summoning all her new found bravery to ask me this.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened to forgetting about this shit.

Not that I’ve forgotten. 

I can’t fucking forget.

“Of course she doesn’t know, Amity.” My words are cold and frustrated. 

She swallows, and licks her lips like they’ve become dry from nerves. 

Fuck, those lips. I still remember how much they felt like silk across my tongue.

Barely a whisper escapes her voice as she continues. “Does she know you want to do it again?” 

Fuck.

My jaw tenses and stomach turns. “What the hell are you doing Amity?”

She doesn’t make any move to come closer, standing safely several feet away from me. “Ever since that night, you haven’t been around much. I’m pretty sure you’ve been going to see her a lot more.”

I haven’t been. I’ve been hiding out at the garage like a bitch who can’t go home to the too sweet of girl who’s ruining his fucking sanity.

“And then you brought her tonight.” She looks up at me through her long lashes. “It just seems like you’re using her to ignore me.”

I’m not even going to respond to that. “Don’t bring up that night, Amity. It’s better if you keep forgetting it happened. And as far as Tisha goes, forget that too. It’s not your place to care about her and I.”

She blinks a few times. “It’s hard to forget about it when I know you want to do it again. I can see it when you look at me, especially tonight. And I can also see how angry it makes you. Like you hate yourself for wanting what you want, but you can’t help it anyways.”

She knows.

My chest tightens. She fucking knows what I won’t even let myself admit. She could gut me with that information alone.

Right now it feels like she is.

My eyes narrow and anger boils up inside. Anger at her for being too damn perceptive. Anger at myself for wanting the last thing I should ever so much as think about.

“Go upstairs. I’m not talking about this shit right now.” I growl, hoping if I’m a big enough asshole she’ll get the fuck out.

“I want to do it again too.” She ignores me.

I’m not a praying man, but I’m about to fall to my knees and beg for mercy. Because much longer of this and I’m sure to break.

“You don’t know what you what.” I hiss.

“You’ve said that before, and you’re wrong.” She clenches her fists at her sides, as though to force herself to stop messing with her fingers and stand up straighter. “I think about it a lot. I thought it would get better after leaving for Christmas, but it didn’t. I thought every night about how much I liked it.”

“That’s enough, Amity.” I scold, and hardly realize that I’ve taken a step forward. I’m not sure if it’s to intimidate the little thing, or something else.

“I really wanted everything to go back to normal, to actually forget about it. And I tried, I really did. But I can’t forget it.”

“You should.” One more step closer.

Her eyes are calling to me like magnets, her perfect skin becomes clearer as I approach. Her lips becoming more inviting.

If she doesn’t stop talking, I might do something I’ll regret.

“I can’t forget it when I want you to do it again too.”

“Amity.” Once again I have nothing else to say other than her name, laced with warning.

“When it felt so good.” She blushes, hard. She’s embarrassed to say what she wants, but determined to nonetheless.

“Shit.”

I’m on her then. Fucking all over her as I slam our lips together, bending at the waist to reach her mouth.

She gasps, sounding almost surprised despite her clever coaxing to make this happen. 

I’ve got a hand cupping the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip tighter than I should. The feeling of actually touching her this time, is overwhelming and so damn intoxicating. Just like her lips, her tongue, her mouth. 

She’s so inexperienced as our tongues fight together, battling it out in a war to consume each other. 

It takes her a few seconds, but soon enough she grasps onto the front of my shirt, holding on like she’s going to fall over any second now. She couldn’t be any more on her tip toes if she tried, our angle awkward but fuck if I care. I can’t pull away, not yet.

I feast on her lips, swallow down every hitch of her breath until she finally takes the first move to separate us. Pulling away with wet, swelling lips that I want to bite into then lick away the pain.

I wait for the look in her eyes, the one that says she has no idea what she just did. The fear sure to wash over her when she realizes who I am and who she is and what she just let me do. Again.

But the look never comes. Not even as she stares up at me, her hands still clutched tight to my chest. Instead she looks… dazzled. Like she’s just discovered something new, something she likes, and wants to explore some more.

My cock hardens. 

I’m screwed.

She’s back on me, pulling me down by my shirt and crushing our mouths together. All frenzy and no sweetness, despite how much she tastes like honey and that beautiful sin that she is.

I’m bending over again, and decide fuck it.

I grab under her arms, lifting her up and spinning us around to set her on the counter.

She squeals, fucking music to my ears. But her legs find there place around my hips. She knows what her body wants to do.

I grab both sides of her head, my thumb running along her bottom lip as I take in every detail of her face. The few freckles that dot her cheeks, the blush reddening around them. Her eyes are like crystals, and they’re filled with desire that girls like her don’t know how to satiate. 

She’s so small in my hands, covered by my body. 

I could fucking break her.

And right now, I think she’d let me.

I can tell by the twitch of her lips that she wants to say something, but she holds it in. She doesn’t want my common sense to kick in again like it did that night.

But it won’t. Not now anyways. 

I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, telling myself to keep my hands on her face, not to travel any lower. 

But that doesn’t fucking work.

I trail my fingers down, following the curve of her collar bone as I never break our kiss.

I go lower, the faintest gasp entering my mouth from hers when I graze the sides of her breasts. But I don’t linger, as much as I fucking want to.

I go across her ribs, down her slim waist, clutching at her hip bones, holding on like I’m trying to keep her from escaping. 

I kiss down to her jaw, tasting her flesh with my tongue, always moving but never breaking our seal. Never removing my lips from her skin.

I reach her neck, and she instinctively leans her head back, giving me all the access I crave.

I latch on, sucking hard where her pulse beats wildly.

She moans, the sound nearly making my world spin. Her hands shoot out to hold around my neck. Once again like she’s hanging on for dear life.

It’s then that her hips rotate. A gentle roll I know she’s not aware of, it’s just her body’s natural reaction.

But that roll of her hips drags her legging covered center right across my hardening cock. 

It’s my turn to grunt, growling into her neck as she makes a strange noise in the back of her throat, clearly realizing what she just grinded into.

That should stop me. Should be the bell that goes off in my head to back the fuck off.

But it doesn’t. I’m a sick fuck who sucks harder and grips her hips tighter.

Her moans comes out louder than last time, and this time when she softly rolls her hips forward, I help guide her.

I let her rock against the length of me once more, savoring the feeling before angling her up, letting her glide across my lower abdomen.

Because if she grinds against my cock any longer, it’s going to be dangerous for the both of us.

She’s clearly letting her body guide her with a little help from me. She’s letting what feels good take over as I greedily devour her skin. Traveling all around her neck, her jaw. Finding her lips again and feeling the warmth that covers her heated skin.

“This what you wanted?” I growl into her mouth.

“Ah.” She’s embarrassed, I can tell. But she’s more turned on, answering me with nothing more than a needy moan.

“Wanted me to touch you.” I suck on her tongue before pulling back. “Make you feel good.”

“Mmh.” She nods her head frantically, trying to keep up with every kiss I assault her with while she keeps rocking against me.

I scowl. Because I hate myself for how much I fucking love holding her little body in my hands. Like she trusts me not to break her.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for, Little Rose.” I grunt before deepening our kiss further.

No idea how maybe breaking you, is exactly what I want to do.

She’s a brave girl. Riding herself up and down me while she lets the rhythm of it all lead the way.

Her moans come out faster, less space between. Her hands digging into the skin on the back of my neck, my own hands surely bruising the flesh of her hips while I grind her harder against me.

I know what her moans signal. I know what’s about to happen, and it’s truly fucked up.

But I’m too far gone, I don’t want her moans to go away. Don’t want her body separated from mine yet.

And she’s too far gone as well.

Her kiss becomes lazy as she’s too distracted by the pleasure she’s finding with her body.

Her hips rotating faster than before as she cries out. Her lips breaking away, burying her face in my neck as she practically squeezes the life out of me.

“Duke!” My name sounds like a prayer on her lips. Spoken into the heat of my shoulder while her grinding becomes unsteady, slowing down as her body tenses, shaking from head to toe.

Fucking hell. This girl. Little Amity Rose, just rode my stomach like she couldn’t fucking stop it. And she fucking came.

She came hard. Every muscle seizing up. Her heart beating like it’s going to fly out of her chest against mine.

I swear to god, every emotion, good and bad, courses through me like a freight train.

Amity doesn’t move, like she’s too afraid to peel away from me. To look me in the eye.

So I pull away, still holding her hips as I observe her face. But she doesn’t look at me. She looks… shocked… as she stares down between us. At first I think she’s looking at my cock trying to pry its way out of my pants. But she’s looking at herself.

At the wet patch right between her legs.

She’s soaked, and I nearly come in my pants like a teenage asshole at the sight.

But the thought quickly leaves me when I get a look at her face.

Her eyes are wide, her lips parted as her jaw shakes. 

There’s the fear.

The fear I expected earlier that was clouded by desire. It’s fully present now as she looks at the aftermath of what she just did.

“I-“ She stutters, completely frazzled and jumbled as she lets go of me. Pure humiliation present in her voice. “I should, um… I’m sorry… I should go.”

She pushes me away, and I’m too dumbfounded by the last five minutes to get my thoughts together. To tell her it’s okay. That she shouldn’t be embarrassed.

I don’t fight her, I step away instantly.

She jumps down and runs out of the room like it’s on fire. And I’m the one who started it.

“Amity, wait.” My senses return to me, but too late. She’s ran up the stairs already.

I should run after her, grab her and console her embarrassment away. But I’m halted. Taking in the situation I’ve gotten myself in. My cock is hard for my daughter’s friend. The same friend who used to run around my house giggling and hiding from me.

The same friend who just rubbed her pussy… thank fuck it was covered… up and down my stomach until she came like she’s never came before in her life.

Jesus fuck she probably hasn’t had an orgasm before. That would explain her life or death grasp around my neck, and the pure shock on her face after her waves of pleasure had subsided.

“Fuck.” I slam my fist into the cabinet next to my head, breaking the door in half. I’ll have to fix that later, but I don’t give a damn right now.

All I give a shit about is Amity. She may have asked for it, but that doesn’t mean she understood the repercussions. 

I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the aching in my dick as I head for Amity’s room.

No surprise the door is shut. I shouldn’t go in anyways.

There’s no light coming from underneath the door, no noise from inside. 

I can’t go in there with my cock like a fucking rock. I should. Should try to fix this shit, but I’m pretty sure I’ve dug this hole and going in there might make it that much bigger.

I stand by her door, my hands on either side of the frame, for another minute before finally turning away, heading towards my bedroom at the end of the hall.

I turn the heat up in the shower, letting the scalding water burn my flesh as I stand naked underneath. 

Ten minutes and I’m still fucking hard and so damn pissed it would be dangerous to be around anyone right now. 

This shouldn’t have happened. A man like me should never know the taste of a girl like her. 

Amity Rose.

Fuck, I thought she tasted sweet that first night I kissed her. Tonight was a new level. I could swallow her moans forever and never grow tired of the taste, the sound. The way she twitched and her lips shook.

My hand travels down to my dick, gripping at the base where I pause. 

I’ve yet to allow myself to indulge in the perversions that have crossed my mind about the girl I can’t have, shouldn’t want to have. But tonight, after feeling her whole body quake with her release, I can’t fucking stop it.

I allow my fist to move, allow my eyes to close and the twisted image to appear in my mind.

I allow myself, just this time, to imagine.

Amity, her hips rocking, slowly like she had no clue what she was doing. Then faster, the feeling inside her building until her body and mind were working separately.

That spot between her thighs, wet and soaked through, made my sides tense. I wanted to fucking taste her, suck up the patch that surely tastes like honey. Peel off her leggings and find her panties ruined. Ruined because she couldn’t stop her sweet self from grinding her pussy all over me.

Her panties come off next. Discarded on the floor because they’re ruined anyways. Or maybe I’d keep them, as a reminder of how pretty she came for me. 

She’s so damn innocent I know she’d have soft hair, surely blonde, dusted across her folds. 

I’d hear the hitch in her breath again, the genuine shock, when I part her using my fingers, revealing her sensitive clit to me.

I could play with it some, tease it with my fingers until she’s withering and begging. But I wouldn’t be able to be patient. I’d duck down, sucking her nub into my mouth and pulling the sort of pleasure from her body that she’d have no idea how to cope with.

I can imagine her squeals, delight and fear and fucking pleasure rolled into one as she digs her fingers into my skin again. This time breaking into my flesh.

She’d come again, harder than the first time. So wet she’d be ready for me. Begging for me. 

She’d be tighter than anything I’ve felt before when I finally slide inside her.

Pure silk and heat, and gripping pleasure.

Fuck, I don’t realize how hard I’m stroking my cock until the first spirts come out.

I empty myself on the shower wall and into my hand, thoughts of Amity swirling around, tempting me like nothing ever has.

I don’t prolong my release though. I stop abruptly after the initial spurts have ended. 

The thing about an orgasm is that once it’s done you’ve realized what you just did.

Me, I just came harder than I have in a fuck of a long time thinking about a girl who’s just that, a girl.

My daughter’s best friend. Less than half my age.

I step out of the shower, aggressively drying off my body before getting into bed naked. 

I’ve been to war. Seen shit no one should ever see and dealt with it like the man I was trained to be.

But here I am, just me and the fucking walls, with no clue how to handle the teenage girl who lays just down the hall from me.

I have no training for this. But if anyone were to find out what I’ve done, I’ll be thrown into another battle zone. One I’m not sure I’d be able to escape from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think of the story so far! It's a slow burn, that's for sure, but things are definitely starting to pick up for these two;)


End file.
